


King Thingol’s Codpiece

by elfscribe



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Comedy, Doriath, Double Entendre, F/M, M/M, Menegroth, My Slashy Valentine 2011, Mystery, Romance, Sherlock Holmes-inspired characters, Sindar, Smoking suspicious substances, The Thousand Caves, Three-pipe problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3848482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfscribe/pseuds/elfscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oropher assists Finrod Felagund in a hunt for a saboteur who has prevented spring from coming to Doriath. A Sherlock Holmes style mystery, with a twist - or two.</p><p>MEFA 2011 winner First Place in Mystery: General and also a winner of a Smaug's Treasure award.<br/>Written for My Slashy Valentine 2011 gift exchange</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where Have All the Flowers Gone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Darth Fingon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Darth+Fingon).



> For Darth Fingon, with the deepest respect and admiration. I hope you enjoy this even half as much as I have enjoyed your stories over the years.
> 
> Request:  
> Pairing: Finrod, Oropher, and Celeborn. Any relationship (or not) between any of the three is up to the author.  
> Story elements: A spy.  
> Do NOT include: Fluff, humor, MPREG, divine interference.
> 
> Well, I endeavored to keep to the request but I’m afraid one or two of the forbidden items crept in. Be it known that I wrote this as solemnly as possible.
> 
> Betas: Many thanks to my wonderfully perceptive and skilled beta Russandol, to botanical researcher Leaf Light, and to language consultant Malinornë. Their skills greatly improved this fic and their lively correspondence made writing it fun.

Warning: This story may pique the sensibilities of some Tolkien canatics with its flagrant flouting of the LaCE, double entendres, gwib references, outrageous elvish attire, and completely disrespectful characterizations. Enjoy!

*Poetry sources located in notes at end of chapters.

*****************************

 

 _“ . . .  when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”_  
Sherlock Holmes in _The Sign of the Four_  
  
  
First Age 65 - Doriath  
  
“What have you done with Spring?” the strange elf said from the back of a tall grey warhorse.  
  
Oropher’s jaw slowly dropped. Not only was the stranger stunningly beautiful, he was asking the very question that had been plaguing Nivrim and in fact the reason why he had been sent to Menegroth to inquire of the King. Of course it was obvious that something was wrong. But what have you done with Spring?  As if he were personally at fault? What was he to say to that?  
  
“Um, I don’t know what’s happened.  It appears to be late.  That’s why my father sent me . . .”  
  
“Of course it’s late.  I’ve been to Doriath many times in the past decade and I’ve never seen such a sad lack of display at this time of year.”  Here, the elf swung a leg over his horse, hopped down, and strode about, gesturing at the brown leaf-carpeted forest floor. “Where are the swaths of gorgeous bluebells that should be here, or the white niphredil? There are no primroses by the river banks, no celandine, and neither the rowan nor the hawthorn has bloomed. And,” he heaved a great sigh, “no cherry blossoms.” He craned his head back and waved in disgust at the bare branches overhead. “The leaves should have budded out weeks ago – even if it was the worst of winters, which it was not.”  
  
Before Oropher could react, the elf walked right up to him, bent slightly, and much to Oropher’s consternation, inhaled a deep whiff by his ear, fingered a portion of his cloak, and finally took his hand in his for a moment.  “Ah,” he said. “As I surmised.  I would think that you, a healer from the Lord of Nivrim’s family, might be privy to whatever calamity has befallen these woods.”  
  
Oropher tried to regain his composure and failed.  He took a step backwards. “Do I know you, sir?”  
  
“No. To my knowledge, we have not previously met.”  
  
“Then, how do you know, um, all that about me?”  
  
“Simple, my dear Sinda. Your tunic is dyed a shade of light reddish-brown, commonly produced by the oak tannins in Nivrim. And I note an oak leaf embroidered on your quiver there, characteristic of the lord’s family of that fiefdom.  You were coming up from the south where Nivrim lies. Not to mention the slight accent when you said the word, father. Your cloak appears to be made of a spider silk from Nan Dungortheb, which is hard to obtain and therefore used only by a ruling family. Are you with me so far? Yes? Good. In addition, you are a healer because your hands are soft so you do not do hard labor and I can smell the dried garlic and the athelas in your pack, not to mention the pungent echuilas, a herb with which I’m most familiar, and there are several others that I can’t quite place. Carrying such a combination of herbs would be peculiar to a healer. And to anticipate your next question, I am headed the same direction as you – towards Menegroth.”  
  
Astounded, Oropher saw no need to deny any of it, so he didn’t. First, he carefully shut his mouth, then he managed to say,  “You have an astute eye as well as a remarkable sense of smell.”  
  
The stranger’s mouth quirked slightly and he gave Oropher a canny look. “I’ve trained myself to notice details.  It allows me to perceive things hidden to most others.”  
  
“What is your name, if I may be so bold?”  
  
“Finrod,” the stranger said.  
  
“Ah yes,” Oropher cried, enlightened.  “I’ve heard of you. You are the Noldo who has begun carving out a home in Nargothrond.  Known by the appellation Felagund.”  
  
“So they call me,” Finrod said.  “I see news of me has gone apace.”  
  
“Well, do you wonder why that is so?” Oropher exclaimed enthusiastically.  “How often are we visited by elves from Aman?  And we Sindar are great gossips.  I have heard about you and your lovely sister, who even now stays as a guest of the King and Queen at Menegroth. However, I did not know that the Noldor were blond.”  Absently, Oropher reached up to touch his own ash blond locks.  
  
“Most are not. It helps to have Vanyarin ancestry,” Finrod said. “And you are rather forthright.  It’s delightful. What are you called?”  
  
“Oropher.  And I am indeed the son of Doronul, the Lord of Nivrim, vassal to King Elu Thingol. So you were dead on. Extraordinary!”  
  
A ghost of a smile formed about Finrod’s mouth. They eyed each other for a moment.  
  
Tall, with a slender, well-knit frame, the Noldo was lightly armored with a silver breastplate, vambraces, and greaves worn over softly draped garments dyed with woad to a deep blue and decorated with silver embroidery. An ermine-lined traveling cape hung from his shoulders.  His face was finely molded with sharp cheek bones, a hawkish nose, and sensitive lips. His hair, pulled back with jeweled clasps, was otherwise worn loose about his shoulders in a way that suggested he might be vain about it.  Its color was indeed remarkable. Richer in hue than the usual pale blond Oropher was used to among his kindred, it was scattered throughout with silver strands that gave it a shimmering quality, like morning sunlight sparkling through a bedewed spider web. Oropher thought it worth a song at least, if only he were as talented as the King’s minstrel, Daeron. But it was Finrod’s quick eye, brilliant and piercing as a lance, that both enthralled and intimidated Oropher.  Simply standing near him was causing his heart to thump.  
  
Finrod’s horse was outfitted with a black harness with silver buckles and a feather plume in the headstall. A crimson blanket was strapped about his middle and leather traveling bags were slung across his back.  Oropher noted the jeweled pommel of an immense sword peeking from a tooled scabbard attached to his harness.       
       
“Well then, since we are headed the same direction, would you care to ride with me?” Finrod said, gathering up the reins and mounting his horse.  
  
“Truly?” Oropher asked, flabbergasted.  The day had suddenly improved tremendously, despite the dreary landscape.  
  
“Truly,” Finrod replied.  “And if you would be so kind as to spare a pinch of your echuilas, that will help my thinking. I’ve been craving a jot all morning.”  
  
“Oh, of course,” Oropher said.  He fumbled in his pack and brought out the leather packet of the pungent herb, took a small pinch of a bud and handed it to Finrod, who stuck it in his mouth, deftly tucking it against his gum in a way that suggested familiarity with the procedure. Oropher got one for himself too, enjoying the immediate tingling lift it gave him.  Like mint, only better.  
  
Finrod extended a leather-gloved hand toward Oropher and helped him climb onto the tall horse.  Oropher sat on the saddle pad behind the elf lord, where he soon had to grasp the Noldo’s waist to keep his seat as they trotted down the path.    
  
“When did this begin?” Finrod asked, waving one hand at the scraggly canopy.  
  
“Huh? What?” Oropher said, teeth rattling.  
  
“Failure of the seasons to rotate as usual.  No spring,” Finrod replied sharply. “I wasn’t here last year.  Too busy excavating.  Felagund you know.”  Oropher thought he heard a note of humor in his voice.  
  
“No, it’s just this year.  The early buds came in, the snowdrops and daffodils as usual; the primroses began in March, and then suddenly everything stopped in mid-bloom; I mean truly just stopped and shriveled up. I should know since I’m always out this time of year collecting plants.”  
  
“I wonder if it is more of Morgoth’s machinations,” Finrod said darkly.  “This is a new wrinkle for him.”  
  
“Perhaps,” Oropher said.  He was beginning to experience a rather embarrassing predicament caused by the continuous vibration against the glorious stranger’s backside, and no doubt aided by the stimulating properties of the echuilas. By Oromë’s horn, Finrod even smelled good. Oropher grit his teeth. The heat welling within was something that always was getting him into trouble, as he rarely exercised restraint in his pursuits. He could almost feel his father’s swat upside his head.  “Son, keep your mind on your work, not on your gwib,” Ada would say.  Oropher would be in even worse trouble if his father knew that his affections were rather indiscriminate when it came to gender.  So as not to repeat past mistakes with this alluring stranger, he began thinking of orc droppings, remembering their hideous smell and ghastly contents, although it wasn’t helping much, as the friction was more immediate and quite a bit more engaging.  
  
Suddenly, almost as if summoned by his thoughts, he saw an orc’s ugly helmeted head peeping over a fallen tree.  He blinked.  It could not possibly be true!  They were well within the borders of Melian’s Girdle that magically kept out all foreign invaders by causing them to run around in bewildered circles until they ended up crouched in a ball, rocking back and forth. As far as he could tell, this orc was not doing any of those things.  
  
“Watch out!” Oropher hissed.  
   
But Finrod had already reined his horse to a stop.  “Get off and ready your bow,” he whispered harshly.  
  
Oropher scrambled off the horse, landing in the deep carpet of dead leaves.  He rapidly strung his bow, and nocked an arrow. The orc had not moved.  What was happening?  
  
Finrod had already dismounted and drawn his sword from its scabbard.  He said,  “Follow me. Where there’s one, there’s likely to be more.”  
  
Although young, Oropher was a veteran of the Battle of Amon Ereb, where King Thingol had repelled Morgoth’s host. He did not think he needed Finrod to direct him.   He started to circle around the tree when suddenly Finrod was behind him, bringing his hand down hard on his shoulder.  “You would do well to follow my direction,” he said.  “There are more.  See the tracks.”  
  
Oropher did not see anything in the wintery drifts below his feet.  This Finrod was either uncanny or a liar.   As silently as possible, he crept along behind the Noldo.  Slowly they approached the orc, who did not appear to move.  
  
Abruptly, Finrod straightened up. “Dead,” he pronounced.  “Spitted.”  
  
“Huh?”  In alarm, Oropher watched Finrod run right at the orc and circle around the log.  Raising his sword to the side two-handed, he knocked its head clean off, so that it flew back towards him, its helm rolling with a loud clunkety clunk.  
  
When it stopped rolling and he could examine it more closely, Oropher saw that indeed it had been hacked from its body within the past several days.  His gorge rose in disgust at the maggoty gobbets of flesh. He looked up, blinking in the wan sunlight, and saw that Finrod had knocked it from a thick stake set in the ground behind the log.  
  
In the meantime, Finrod had disappeared over the rise and Oropher followed more cautiously.  In a clearing, about twelve hundred steps away, he found more heads crammed jauntily onto stakes, a dozen in all.  Next to them had been raised a large mound of freshly turned earth that must contain the rest of the creatures.  Flies buzzed busily about.  It stank.    
  
Holding his nose, Oropher stood there at a loss.  Never had such a thing happened since Melian had set the girdle of enchantment around Doriath.  Finrod was striding about, looking at the ground, and then examining one of the staked heads.  “All’s well,” he called.  “The marchwardens did this.  It must have happened two days ago.  Still,” he paused to rub his chin thoughtfully.  “It shouldn’t have been necessary.  What in Námo’s nut sack is happening here?”  
  
Oropher was inclined to agree. Indeed, this called for a few colorful curses.  
  
*******  
They rode for a time in silence. Oropher was surreptitiously enjoying the warmth of Finrod’s backside and that of the great beast under them, whose name he learned was Thindroch. The wind had picked up and it was growing colder. On their left side, the Esgalduin roared, still swollen from spring rains. Smooth-skinned beech trees towered overhead, their lacy network of bare branches swaying in the breeze. In general, the land was bleak and dreary.  It wasn’t right at all for late April in many-splendored Doriath.  
  
Oropher was glad to be getting a ride so that they would reach Menegroth this evening instead of having to camp out.  He was an elf who enjoyed his comforts and he now realized that in packing so hastily that morning, he’d failed to include enough warm clothing.  That was another thing Ada was apt to say, “One of these days Oropher, your impetuousness will land you in a beehive of trouble.” This comment usually followed being caught out in another dalliance. But how could he help it, when lying with other elves was so much fun?  
  
He had better behave himself in Menegroth.  The last thing he wished was to bring disgrace upon his family and he knew the King did not take kindly to such mischief at court.  Surely, there would be plenty of other marvels to occupy him. Oropher was excited about visiting the legendary palace, since he’d never had the opportunity before.  He’d heard about it from his father of course and from others, but he was anxious to see it for himself.  
  
“What brings you to Menegroth?” he asked Finrod by way of pleasant conversation.  
  
“Could you not guess, based on what you yourself said earlier?” the golden-haired elf replied.  
  
“Um, engineering tips? Better shovels? More Naugrim laborers?”  
  
Finrod snorted. “My sister,” he said.  
  
“Oh yes.  Are you fond of her then?”  
  
“Quite.  Although she is, shall we say, a challenge, even to me,” he replied. Some silence stretched between them while Oropher listened to the muffled clops of the horse’s great feet on the path and tried not to think of his tingling lower regions.  
  
Finrod began humming something under his breath.  Oropher thought his voice rather nice.  “What is that?  I haven’t heard it before,” he ventured.  
  
“A new composition.  Daeron always asks me to play with him when I come.  I think he enjoys the challenge. But he has a hard time competing with certain types of songs, so I’m hoping to stump him with this one.” Finrod laughed.  He  began to sing in a clear and solemn voice.  
  
_Last night a dream came into my head_  
_Thou wert a fine white loaf of bread._  
_Then if may, butter I cou'd be_  
_How I wou'd spread_  
_Oh! How I wou'd spread my self on thee._  
_This morning too my thoughts ran hard_  
_That you were made a cool tankard_  
_Then cou'd I but a lemon be_  
_How I wou'd squeeze_  
_Oh! how I wou'd squeeze my juice in thee._  
  
_Lately, when fancy too did roam,_  
_Thou wert my dear, a honeycomb;_  
_And had I been a pretty bee_  
_How I would suck_  
_Oh! How I would creep, creep into thee._  
_A vision, too, I had of old_  
_That thou a mortar wert of gold_  
_Then cou'd I but the pestle be_  
_How I wou'd pound_  
_Oh! How I wou'd pound my spice in thee*_  
  
Here Finrod paused. “Well, what do you think?”  
  
“Um,” Oropher said.  
  
“You have reservations,” Finrod sulked.  
  
“Yes. Are you sure that song is appropriate for King Thingol’s court?”  
  
“Why ever not?”  
  
“Well, it appears to have certain double meanings, connotations, as it were.”  
  
“Such as?” Finrod asked.  
  
“Well, it seems to me, that it could well refer to . . . lovemaking,” Oropher said.  
  
“What a curious mind you have, Oropher,” Finrod said.  “It means exactly what it says, or at least that is what I shall tell Daeron and the King.”  
  
Oropher was really beginning to appreciate Finrod.  He said, “I’m sure Daeron would enjoy _playing_ with you, even if such a scandalous theme would be _beneath_ him. Pray tell me, Finrod, what is your _instrument_? And do you _practice_ upon it often?”  
  
“Harp, pipes, flute, lute, and tabor.  I can play almost anything and yes, I practice daily.”  Did he imagine the amused tone creeping into Finrod’s voice?  
  
“Oh, that’s a fine thing,” Oropher enthused. “Is there anything you can’t do?”  
  
“Very little,” Finrod said. “However, much as I’d like to, I can’t . . . .”   He stopped mid-sentence.  
  
“What . . .?”  
  
“Shush,” Finrod replied, holding up a hand.  
  
In the distance they heard a noise that sounded for all the world like a company of drummers leading a parade.  _Hoom hom, boom, dom, ta ra ra rom, ta ra boom de ay, ta ra ra boom de ay!_  
  
“Now what?” wondered Oropher. The commotion rapidly approached.  
  
Striding down the path towards them there appeared a creature like a giant oak tree with a large knobby head, frowsy hair, a twiggy, moss-green beard, and gnarled legs with immense toes.  It was wearing a garment of rough bark.  
  
“By the Belain, it’s an Onod,” Oropher cried. “That is a rare sight.”  
  
Finrod brought his steed to a halt.  “Fascinating.  I’ve not encountered one before. Greetings, Shepherd,” he called and inclined his head with his hand over his heart. “What brings you hereabouts in such a furious, and may I say, uncharacteristic haste?”  
  
The creature slowed, rumbled to a stop nearly on top of them, and leaning over without bending in the middle, eyed them intently. “ _Hoom,_ ah, yes Iathrim from Garthurian, I presume?”  
  
“Not I,” said Finrod.  “I am of the Noldor, presently from Nargothrond. I am Finrod Felagund. And what might you be called?”  
  
“ _Hoom,_ yes,”  He paused for a long moment as if collecting his thoughts. “Fangorn will do for now, since I am indeed most uncharacteristically in a hurry. You see, I’ve lost her.”  
  
“Who?” Oropher inquired.  
  
“Fimbrethil. My wife. Lovely, smooth-limbed, slender as a willow wand. Most diverting.  _Hom_. But, _hoom,_ somewhat of a temper. You haven’t seen her, have you?”  The Onod’s eyebrows were drawn into a knot over his eyes.  His beard stuck out like a broom.  His voice was very deep and gravely, like water gurgling over stones.  
  
“Your wife, er, no,” Oropher said.  
  
“In fact, you are the first of your kind I’ve laid eyes on,” Finrod said. “And I am most curious about you.  I wish we could spend a fortnight talking.”  
  
“In normal circumstances, I would wish for a year at the least, my dear lachenn,” Fangorn said. “For I should like to hear all about the Trees that grew in Valinor, whose light I see you still carry in your eyes. But I worry about what may have happened to her.”  He lowered his voice.  “Did you not notice that burárum have penetrated Melian’s Girdle?”  
  
“We noticed.  Can you shed any light on it?” Finrod replied.  
  
“Sadly, I cannot,” Fangorn rumbled. “But it fills me with trepidation. It would be a dreadful omen if something had happened to Fair Melian, the Queen.”  
  
“How did your wife become lost?” Oropher asked.  “Do you not know every root and twig of these forests?”  
  
“ _Hoom_ now, young master,” Fangorn rumbled.  “Indeed.  But I did not say she became lost.  I said I lost her.  Fimbrethil is rather flighty even for an Ent.  I find it difficult to keep her by my side these days.  She complained this entire past lunar cycle that life with me was becoming, _hoom ha_ , unsatisfactory.”  
  
“Unsatisfactory?” Oropher asked and then exclaimed, _“Oof!”_ when Finrod elbowed him in the stomach.  
   
Fangorn’s eyes shifted from left to right. He leaned forward and put his hand to his mouth.  “She complained about a lack . . . of . . . of wood.”  
  
“Of wood?” Oropher said uncertainly.  When Finrod jabbed him again, he saw the light and channeled the sudden laughter that threatened into a strangled snort that burned the inside of his nose.  
  
“So, you see my good edhil, this is of serious moment,” Fangorn wheezed.  “Spring is not the time for such a disaster.”  
  
“No, I can see that.” Finrod shifted in the saddle. “Forgive my impertinence, but has this problem happened to you before?”  
  
“ _Brrr, rumm_ ,” Fangorn grumbled, the sound much like a large set of reed pipes. “I should say not.  Well yes, now that I think of it, many years ago when we were sojourning in Dorthonion and that wicked Vala came and piled up his ugly mountains that spewed ash all over my beautiful trees.  Spring did not come that year and neither did . . .”  
  
“Ah yes, indeed,” Finrod sat up straight.  “Do you think something similar has happened here? You have noticed, have you not, that nothing is blooming, blossoming or fruiting at the moment?”  
  
Fangorn shook his head sadly.  “I have noticed and it is of great concern.  But all things in this wood are ruled by King Thingol and Queen Melian.  Perhaps you should inquire of them.”  
  
“That is what we intend to do,” Finrod said firmly.  
  
“Well, forgive my hastiness,” Fangorn said.  “This is most inhospitable of me.  But I fear what would happen to Fimbrethil if she was caught by burárum. So, I’ll be on my way.”  
  
“Well met, Fangorn,” Finrod said.  
  
“Indeed yes,” the Onod replied.  “We must have that talk, my friend. Soon, I think.  Sometime in the next decade.” He started to walk past them, going slowly at first, and then picking up speed until he was in full lumber.  As he disappeared around a bend in the path, he called back, “If you see my good Fimbrethil, please detain her, and _hoom_ , send word to me, by rook or by squirrel.”  
  
“We will,” Oropher called, while privately wondering how they could possibly detain an Onod if one did not wish to be detained. When Fangorn disappeared from sight, he began to giggle. “Lack of wood,” he said. “I always wondered how . . .”  
  
Finrod turned his head and Oropher saw his lips quirk in a way that seemed to mean he was amused. The Noldo said, “Yes indeed.  Wood is necessary to keep a household warm.”    
  
**********  
  
By the time they reached Menegroth, the myriad beech trees on either side of the path were throwing long shadows in the late afternoon sun. The two elves crested a hill and then stood for a moment looking down into a wide valley.  At the far end a white wooden bridge arched over the roaring Esgalduin.  Beyond the bridge stood the great silver gates that led to the King’s underground realm.  Near the gates, Oropher could discern the leafless canopy of an immense beech tree formed of three separate intertwined trunks. Suddenly a small flock of ravens rose from shaggy nests in its branches and flapped towards them, calling in harsh voices.  
  
“The King’s messengers,” Finrod noted.  
  
“Yes, I know,” Oropher said.  Very rarely one would appear bearing a message for his father.  He remembered their strange croaking voices.  
  
In the distance, they heard a horn winding, a lovely if mournful sound. Several more took up the call, creating a harmonious blend.    
  
“How exciting!” Oropher said, clutching Finrod’s shoulders.  
  
“Have you never been here before?” Finrod asked.  
  
“No, I confess this is my first time.”  
  
“You have a refreshing candor, Doronulion. Well, then may you enjoy the experience.  It is quite a sight.”  
  
Suddenly, the woods about them came alive with elves, drawing their bows.  “You see, here is the welcoming crew,” Finrod said.  “Strange.  I’ve never had one before.”  
  
“Halt!  Do not move!” one of the wardens cried.  
  
“Limbor, you know me!” Finrod sounded annoyed.  “What is happening around here?”  
  
The group of elves crept closer, still with bows drawn. “Ah yes, Finrod, I do know you,” the one named Limbor replied with a scowl on his fair face. “But I fear the welcome is less good than in the past. Foul doings are afoot.”  He lowered his bow.  “Dismount and come along, both of you. We have orders to detain any and all intruders and bring them directly to the King.”  
  
“And pray, what is the reason for this?” Finrod said, as he slid off the horse.  
  
Limbor came up close and lowered his voice. “There are thieves and spies among us.  Most likely from Morgoth himself.  We cannot be too careful. And while I may know you, I do not know your companion. Come.”  
  
Finrod clicked to his mount and the small troop of elves escorted them down the path towards the gates.  “It grows curiouser and curiouser,” Finrod muttered to Oropher, who was thinking much the same thing himself.  
   
The wardens marched them over the bridge with the water roaring underneath and past the marvelous gates that Oropher now saw were inlaid with mother of pearl, shining in iridescent splendor.  Soon after they passed the gates, Limbor directed one of the elves to stable Finrod’s great horse. Finrod removed the saddle bags and slung them over his shoulder.  
  
They followed Limbor into a great hall.  He motioned them over to a guard’s room just off the main hallway.  Drawing himself up, Limbor rapidly reeled off words that seemed learned by rote.  “In the light of recent events, it is the wardens’ unpleasant duty to thoroughly search everyone who comes and goes from Menegroth. So, take everything off and put all your clothes and belongings in these boxes on the table.  Then step into the next room. Lean your hands against the wall and spread your legs so we may conduct the inspection.”  
  
“What?” Oropher cried.  “I never heard about this before!”  
  
“It’s either this or you do not enter the realm.” Limbor shrugged.  
  
With a sigh, Oropher began shucking his clothing.  It wasn’t that he was opposed to removing his clothes, something that, given the chance, he’d done often enough; it was just that this was so undignified.  He glanced over at Finrod who was unbuckling and unlacing, and unpinning this and that and finally rather awkwardly leaning one hand against the wall to facilitate removal of his leggings. The revelation of the rather substantial and intriguing contents of his hose convinced Oropher that this wasn’t so bad after all.  
  
“This is a rather crude way of discovering illicit activity,” Finrod said, holding up his leggings and waving them at Limbor. “For example, young Limbor, just this morning when you passed by the bakers, you helped yourself to an extra loaf, which I can tell from the slight bulge in your vest pocket and the little dusting of flour on the rim. And the taint on your breath leads me to suspect that you visited the King’s wine cellar before coming on duty. Further, I infer that the wine may be a substitute for the lack of satisfaction you’ve had with your partner lately.”  
  
Limbor’s mouth flapped open and closed again, in just the landed fish manner Oropher suspected he had evidenced when Finrod demonstrated this uncanny ability to him.  
  
“How did you know that last bit?” Limbor finally said.  
  
“Well,” said Finrod, now fully naked and leaning his hands against the wall to present a truly scrumptious backside.  “In addition to your uncharacteristic bad humor, I know your proclivities, Limbor, and under normal circumstances you would find the sight of two naked, and if I may be so frank, rather comely elves, more stimulating than apparently you do.”  
  
“Shut up,” Limbor said. “And hold still.”  
  
“Ow,” Finrod declared.  “No need to take it out on me.”  
  
Oropher found standing naked next to Finrod a source of some difficulty and was happy when the inspection was concluded and he could dress and cover up his embarrassment.  He hoped Finrod hadn’t noticed, but given his powers of observation, he didn’t think it likely.  
  
They followed a grumbling Limbor back out into the main hall, filled with elves bustling to and fro. Oropher knew he looked like the yokel he was but he could not help staring at the impossibly high ceilings, the pillars hewn in the shapes of trees and fantastic animals with eyes made of crystal and ruby.  They were festooned with ivy and lit with many golden lamps so that the halls blazed with light. The floors were inlaid with multi-colored mosaics. A variety of birds nested high up in the branches of the stone trees, so that there was a great twittering and warbling.  Somewhere among them, Oropher heard nightingales singing sweetly.  This arrangement, as appealing to the ear as it was, apparently had a down side, which Oropher noted the first time a small white plop splattered on that beautiful stone floor.  An elf bearing a white cloth leapt from some hidden spot and bent to wipe it up. Oropher noted that he wore a straw hat covered with more of the white blobs.  Now that would be a secure job, Oropher thought.  Not wishing to wear such decorations for his first audience with the Great King, he kept a wary eye on the birds.  
  
It was not until they reached the inner halls that Oropher pulled his eyes away from the splendid architecture and the defecating birds long enough to notice the unusual mode of dress affected by the elves of Thingol’s court. The fabrics were beautiful, velvets and silk brocades, predominantly colored red and silver and black and gold. But unlike Oropher and Finrod’s tunics that reached to mid-thigh, the male elves’ tunics ended just past their hips, completely exposing legs encased in tight hose of varying colors.  This revealed the exact shape of their hind ends, which was something Oropher approved of. But even more remarkable, their privates were covered by bulging bags of fabric tied on with ribbons. Often they were of contrasting color to the tights and decorated with sparkling gems.  Clearly, the elves stuffed them, because the outlandish size was unlikely to occur naturally without pain and certainly went beyond anything in Oropher’s experience. This peculiar garment’s effect was to immediately and irrevocably draw the eye.  Oropher was completely dazzled.  
  
“You may wish to pull your tongue back into your mouth,” Finrod remarked.  “The King won’t take kindly to it.”  
  
“Indeed?” Oropher said. “Um, what is it or rather why?”  
  
“I would have thought it obvious.  It’s a piece of cloth to cover one’s . . .”  
  
“I can see that,” Oropher interrupted. “I meant why would the King, who I heard was rather proper about such matters, condone such a strange and rather provocative form of dress?”  
  
“It is curious, is it not? As best as I was able to learn, the King invented this garment some years ago to please his queen and it was adopted by the rest of his court.  Although I suspect there might be a certain primitive competition ritual involved.  You’ll note they all vie to be largest and most gaudy.  I daresay, some of them have trouble sitting with the things.  I wouldn’t wear one myself, having no need to compete for a mate.”  For a moment Finrod’s eyes seemed unfocussed with some memory.  “Oh, and it is called a corongyll, or codpiece in the common tongue. Also occasionally referred to as a dolthand or a mirchebir.”  
  
Oropher thought he could quite easily adapt to this style.  He could envision having one made for himself. A big stuffed corongyll. He fancied a two-toned effect, half red, half yellow.  Then he realized his decorative imagination had been lacking when a dark-haired beauty approached, sporting a bulging codpiece with a long beaded fringe. Quite forgetting his manners, Oropher stared and then turned completely about in order to continue looking at the elf as he passed by. The elf gave him a dispirited look and hastened off.  
  
“Come along, now,” Finrod said, firmly setting his hands to Oropher’s shoulders and turning him back around.  
  
“This is a paradise,” Oropher enthused.  
  
“And something is not right in this paradise,” Finrod proclaimed.  
  
“What makes you say that?”                         
  
“Normally any elf in this court receiving such a blatant invitation as you just extended would have come over and flirted outrageously.  I sense that all is not well in Menegroth.”  
  
  
*******  
Notes:  
If you have detected a certain similarity between Finrod and Oropher and Sherlock Holmes and Watson, you would be right.  In fact, just before I started writing this I became enamored of the new BBC series Sherlock Holmes starring the marvelous Benedict Cumberbatch, so I grafted their characters onto mine. And yes, Thingol is Lestrad and Galadriel is Mycroft, Holmes’ brother, with a sex change.  
  
echuilas- awakening leaf or herb in Sindarin. From echui (awakening) and las (leaf or herb).  This is a revision, thanks to Malinornë, of an elfscribe invention, originally called echuilin thul.  
  
Doronul - Oropher’s father.  An elfscribe invented name meaning “oak odor” in Sindarin  
  
gwib - Sindarin for penis.    
  
Thindroch - grey horse in Sindarin. (not very inventive, but hey, this is the 11th hour for this fic.)  
  
The bawdy song: “Last night a dream came into my head” is from The Traditional Music Library on Line.   http://www.traditionalmusic.co.uk/bawdy-songs/002120.HTM   Thanks to Russandol for locating it for me.  
  
Iathrim from Garthurian - Iathrim is a Sindarin name for elves from Doriath and Garthurian meaning “fenced realm” another name for Doriath.  
  
On Fangorn’s appearance - It is canon for Fangorn to habituate the region. Treebeard’s song to Merry and Pippin says, “to the beeches of Neldoreth I came in the Autumn.”  Neldoreth is within Doriath, just to the north of the River Esgalduin.     
  
corongyll, means “ball bearer” in Sindarin. Dolthand means “knob shield” and mirchebir means “jewel keeper.”  Thanks to Malinornë who gave me 30 words for codpiece, all rather hysterical.  
  
Limbor - the name means “Clear Need” and came about when fussing with Darth’s Pixelated Fëanor name generator.  Nothing I tried sounded good, so in frustration I hit the randomizer and got Limbor.  Obviously, it was meant to be.    
  



	2. The Missing Codpiece

_“Do not dream of going, Watson, for I very much prefer having a witness if only as a check to my own memory.”_  
-Sherlock Holmes, in _The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor_  
  
If Oropher had been impressed with the halls of the palace, they were as nothing compared to the throne room, whose ceiling was formed of the vast coiling roots of the beech tree they had glimpsed from the outside. The light from the many golden lamps was reflected by thousands of tiny crystals embedded in the stone pillars.  The walls were hung with immense crimson tapestries depicting scenes, such as Oromë riding his great steed Nahar, and blowing his horn as he led the elves from Cuiviénen. Sitting upon an immense throne hewn from the living rock was King Elu Thingol himself, and next to him, Queen Melian.    
  
Oropher tried hard to compose himself but he was in awe of the company. The Queen was surpassing fair to look upon with her waist-length hair, black as onyx, and eyes blue as a robin’s egg. She seemed to look right through him as they approached. The King’s hair was a brilliant silver, twined with strings of red gems braided into one thick plait that fell into his lap. Upon his head, he wore a sparkling diadem of many jewels. His raiment was all grey but shimmered as he moved.  The King did not appear in a wholesome mood, but rather sat slumped, resting his chin in his hand, with one foot up on his chair, looking like he had eaten something that had violently disagreed with him.  Even more astonishing, Oropher noted he appeared to be wearing a copper soup tureen strapped where his corongyll ought to be.    
  
The King and Queen were surrounded by a dozen courtiers, seated on chairs on the dais just below the royal thrones, including a musician with curling black hair, who was playing an enchanting cascade of notes upon a golden harp. That must be the famed Daeron.  Near the Queen sat a woman with long golden hair, identical to Finrod’s, who might be his sister.  And to her right lounged a tall handsome elf with hair as silver-white as the King’s.  That must be his grand-nephew, Celeborn.  They resembled one another, except for the expression.  Celeborn looked rather nervous.    
  
The wardens escorting them bowed. Limbor, who had gone on ahead, stepped up to the King and whispered something.  The King uncoiled himself from his lackadaisical posture to sit upright.    
  
“If I were you,” said Finrod as they approached the royal retinue, “I’d squelch the charmingly naive but sometimes thoughtless remarks.”    
  
Who made you my father?  Oropher thought, but wisely kept it to himself.    
  
Finrod strode up to the King and Queen and bowed to them, each in turn.  Next to him, Oropher went down on one knee, keeping his gaze on the finely woven wool carpet under him.    
  
“My Lord, I have answered your summons,” Finrod said, unexpectedly.  “What is your will?”  
  
Oropher glanced up. Summons.  Finrod had not said he’d been summoned.  
  
The King made an impatient gesture. The minstrel ceased playing and all conversation stopped.  “Ah, Finrod, good.  I have need of your, uh, special skills.”  
  
“I shall endeavor to serve as always, my Lord.  But the message the rook brought was quite unspecific.  What seems to be the problem? Aside from the fact that spring is unaccountably late in your realm, orcs have penetrated Milady’s Magic Girdle, something has affected the male libido, and you are wearing a soup tureen in place of your codpiece.”  
  
There was a deep chuckle from the golden-haired woman. “Trust my brother to come to the heart of the matter without mincing words,” she said.    
  
“Nice to see you too, Artanis,” Finrod said.    
  
“Here, I am called Galadriel.  I hope you don’t mind keeping to their custom of speech, muindor.”  She turned to the tall, silver-haired elf next to her, who took her hand and kissed it.  
  
Finrod’s eyebrows rose.  “Are congratulations in order?”  
  
“The family reunion and attendant news shall have to wait,” Thingol said impatiently.  “A disaster has befallen us.”  
  
“Let me guess,” Finrod said. “You have among you a spy and saboteur, who I gather from your new bit of groin protection, has stolen the royal codpiece.”  
  
There was a slight gasp among some members of the court.  
  
“Enough,” Thingol intoned darkly. “These are delicate matters. We will retreat somewhere more . . . private to discuss them.”  He looked about and lowered his voice.  “The spy could be anywhere.”  The courtiers all about him blanched.  
  
“I am at your service,” Finrod said, with a bow.    
  
Thingol rose with a swish of his great cloak.  
  
Oropher stood as well, not knowing quite what to do.  “And who are you?” the King asked, noticing him for the first time.  
  
Back down on his knees looking at the carpet.  “I’m Oropher, son of Lord Doronul of Nivrim,” he said, quavering a little.  “My father sent me to inquire what has happened to Spring, my Lord.”  
  
“Well, you may tell your father that we are working on the problem,” Thingol replied. “Do not forget to stop by the wardens to be searched again on your way out. Now then Finrod, let us repair to my study.”  
  
Finrod said, “My Lord, I have engaged young Oropher here as my . . . assistant. I’ll need him to attend me in order to take notes.”  
  
Oropher stood in confusion.  “I beg pardon, Lord Finrod?”  
  
Thingol frowned.  “Do you vouch for his loyalty and ability to keep secrets.”  
  
“Do I?” Finrod growled at Oropher.  
  
“Oh yes, unquestionably,” Oropher squeaked. “My Lord.”    
  
“I know your father, young one, and he is a worthy subject, even if he answered the last call to arms a little sluggishly,” Thingol said. “So I shall be specific. You are about to hear state secrets that you may not reveal on pain of death.  Understand?”  
  
Oropher swallowed and nodded.  
  
“Very well then.”  
  
As Oropher trailed after the King, Finrod, and two servants sporting red codpieces, he wondered about this sudden development.  Why in Arda would Finrod think him useful as an assistant?  To say that he was flattered was an understatement. Not to mention that for the son of a lord of a lesser fief to be taken so quickly into the privy counsels of the King, well, it was a great honor and a surprising turn of events.  He had to control himself to keep from leaping about in glee. His father would be most impressed and might even forgive him his last dalliance with the cook’s daughter.     
  
They climbed a flight of stairs and entered a library with reading desks and walls lined with shelves full of scrolls.  Thingol led them to a smaller room off the side that had a circle of stuffed leather chairs around a hearth on which a fire burned merrily.  
  
“Have a seat, nephew,” Thingol invited, with a sweep of his hand. He turned to the servants who had accompanied them and said, “Tea.”  They were off in a flash.     
  
“So, my Lord, you wish my help in finding the saboteur in your realm,” Finrod pronounced.  
  
“You have divined it, Finrod,” Thingol said.    
  
“Well then, I have a few questions that must be answered before I can begin my investigation.”  
  
Oropher cleared his throat.  “Sire, if I am to take notes, would it not help to have a quill and paper?”  
  
The King looked at him as if he saw a bug.  “He is poorly equipped to serve as an assistant, Finrod.”  
  
“Perhaps you should allow me to be the judge of his attributes,” Finrod replied mildly.    
  
Thingol gestured vaguely off behind his head. “Supplies may be found in the next room, in the secretaire.”  
  
Oropher went around the corner to find a study with a writing desk strewn with papers, ledger books, and half-burned candles.  He searched around the cubbyholes and finally found a sheaf of paper, a sharpened quill, an ink pot, and sand.  He carefully brought the items back with him and spread the paper out on a low table.  In the meantime the servant had appeared with a steaming pot of tea, a bottle of liqueur, and some crumpets and blackberry jam. After decorously waiting for the King and Finrod, Oropher eagerly helped himself as it had been a long time since breakfast.  His fingers were soon inconveniently sticky with jam. Licking them off as genteelly as he could, and then surreptitiously wiping them on his tunic, he picked up the pen and loaded it with ink.  He attempted to set it to the paper to write, Notes for Lord Finrod at the top.  The ink made a splotch.  He glanced up and found Thingol regarding him with distaste over the rim of his teacup.    
  
“Are you sure you’ve made a good employment choice?” he asked Finrod.    
  
“Certain. Have I ever made an error in judgement?” Finrod replied with a smile.  
  
“Perhaps in leaving your sister here in my household,” Thingol said.  “She does have a tongue on her, at times.”  
  
“I suppose you’ll need to get used to it, Thingol, now that she and young Celeborn have become engaged.”    
  
The King looked astonished.  “How did you know?  They have not announced it as yet.”  
  
“It was obvious. They are both wearing new, identical mithril rings and Celeborn looked singularly uncomfortable when I came into the room. I suppose you would like my blessing, since I am the senior male of my family present?”  Finrod uncorked the amber liqueur bottle and poured himself a glass of the pale pink liquid.    
  
The rich essence of cherry blossoms caused Oropher’s nose to twitch in appreciation.  He busily scribbled.  
  
Thingol nodded. “You would be wise to give it. My grand nephew is a fine catch and he is quite smitten. I understand your sister took a deal of convincing.”  
  
Finrod tapped his lip with his finger. “I believe that you are the one getting the bargain in my sister.  She has a good head on her shoulders and rarely makes rash decisions.”  
  
“Well, she’s come around apparently and seems as pleased about it as he.  And of course Melian is quite happy for them both. She adores your sister.”  
  
“Hmm.  I suppose I should have a long talk with Celeborn,” Finrod said, “as much for his good as for mine. And now for the matter at hand . . .”  
  
“Yes,” Thingol sighed.  “The spy.  Well, it began when it was stolen. Stolen right out of my bedroom, mind you, and since we have had no strangers here and no one departs the magic gates of Menegroth without my leave, that indicates that the thief must be either a very clever spy or someone near and dear who had access to my chambers.”  
  
“When it was stolen.  I presume you are referring to the codpiece.”    
  
“Yes, but you must realize this is not just any article of fashion. This is the Enchanted Codpiece.”  
  
Oropher choked and a blot appeared under his quill.  Quickly, he blew on it.  
  
“My dear Thingol,” Finrod said, “you must be more specific. I have noticed quite a few codpieces in your court.  I daresay some of them appeared quite enchantingly enormous, but . . .”  
  
Thingol sat back in his chair.  The leather squeaked.  He cleared his throat. “Everyone, of course, knows about Melian’s Girdle that surrounds Doriath in protective magic.  What is less well known is that the Girdle is not merely a term to describe an encircling border but resides in an actual jeweled belt. Its counterpart is the royal codpiece. The two must remain within close proximity for the protective barrier to function.”  
  
“How close?”  
  
“Within one hundred feet. The further away they are separated, the more the enchantment around the borders dissipates, much like the rising sun burns off the morning mist.”  
   
“I see,” Finrod said. “And apparently you use it in some manner to quicken Spring. Why must you do that when spring begins quite happily on its own outside Doriath?  
  
Thingol sighed. “Melian’s magic is very strong and when she first put the Girdle in place, we discovered that it had a dampening effect on fertility for all plants and animals within the boundaries. So to stimulate nature, she had to create a counter-magic with the Codpiece. I make the Kingdom fruitful by putting it on for the spring rites.  I wear it for half the year, only taking it off after the deer complete the autumn rut.”  
  
“Ah, then it’s a rutting codpiece,” Finrod proclaimed.    
  
_A rutting codpiece,_ Oropher wrote.  A giggle began to swell within.  
  
“So Spring does not come to Doriath . . .”  
  
“Without my wearing the codpiece and enacting my kingly duties.”  
  
“I should think that your kingly duties might be hampered by such a garment,” Finrod said.    
  
“Its magic continues within my person for a full four hours after I remove it,” Thingol said, thoughtfully stroking his chin. “Which is sufficient time. Unfortunately, after that there is a definite wilting effect.  Without it, I cannot rise to the occasion, as it were.  And neither can any member of this court.”  
  
_A wilting effect on the court’s members_ , Oropher wrote and the threat of mirth increased.  
  
“So it’s sympathetic magic, is it?” said Finrod.  “No wonder I sensed a certain frustration when I came into Menegroth.”  
  
“Well, soon it will be more than frustration of that base sort,” Thingol said.  “Without the codpiece there will be no fruits, no crops, no baby animals.  In short, we will soon run out of food and be forced to leave this region for a less magically regulated, less fortified, and therefore far more dangerous country.”  
  
“A host of displaced elves wandering about in the wild displaying colorful codpieces might well attract unwanted attention,” Finrod agreed.  
  
“That cannot happen! It is out of the question to leave our realm. We must retrieve the Codpiece, find the spy, and make him pay dearly. I’ve been waiting for years for Morgoth to make such a despicable move. He’s taking revenge for my trouncing him in his last assault. Perhaps I should mount a counter attack. Catch him off guard.”  
  
“Well I should not make such a potentially costly move until we’ve exhausted all other possibilities,” Finrod said, with fingertips steepled together against his lips. “When did you notice it was missing?”  
  
“About three fortnights ago.  I had been using it for several weeks, time enough to begin the spring rites.  Then, one evening, when I went to retrieve it, it was gone.”  
  
 . . . _three fortnights ago Codpiece disappeared_ , Oropher scratched.  
  
“And then what did you do?”  
  
“I issued orders that no one was to leave Menegroth, closed the gates, and initiated an immediate search.  We checked everywhere in the vicinity and then exhaustively went through every room throughout the caves, all one thousand of them. It had vanished completely and utterly.  Since then, anyone wishing to leave or enter the palace must undergo a thorough search of his person.”  
  
“A most wise precaution. And are there no other routes in or out of the city? Not even a secret passage?”  
  
“None except the front gate and the backdoor.  There are guards at both.”  
  
_No passage except the front and back door,_ Oropher wrote.  
  
“I see.  So in that case the codpiece might still be within Menegroth.”  
  
“So we think, unless someone has managed to burrow out of here or sneak it out in some manner.”  
  
“I did not see any of the Naugrim when we entered,” Finrod said.  “And they were plentiful enough last time I was here.”  
  
“I suspected them at once and imprisoned them in their workshops deep underground,” Thingol growled.  
  
“That is unlikely to endear you to them,” Finrod said.  “I have a dwarf workforce myself.  Remarkable folk, but they do carry a grudge.”  
  
“They are well enough cared for, just restricted until such time as we solve this mystery,” Thingol replied.  
  
“Well, we had better do so forthwith or we’ll add rioting dwarves to your troubles. The question is why would anyone steal your codpiece?” Finrod mused.  
  
“Well, that’s easy enough.  Look at the havoc its theft has thrown my country into.”    
  
“Let us first eliminate other possibilities, shall we?  Let us say the culprit was one of your courtiers and the object was not the overthrow of Doriath but some other motive, what might it be?”  
  
“To embarrass me?”  
  
“It’s possible.  Tell me, if you wear it half the year, why is your nursery not overrun with children?  You still have just the one daughter? Correct?”  
  
Thingol nodded.  “Of course.  In order to produce our daughter Melian had to will the magic to quicken her. Normally, her girdle deflects the magic of the codpiece away from her womb where it spills out to fertilize the rest of the land.”  
  
“What effect would the Codpiece have if another elf were to put it on?” Finrod asked. He sipped the liqueur.  
  
“It would enhance the procreative act.”  
  
“It would?”  
  
“Oh yes, stamina, drive, and even size are greatly improved.”  Thingol’s mouth twitched into a bemused smile.  
  
_Good for a hot roll in the hay_ , Oropher wrote.  
  
“I see,” said Finrod.  “And you don’t think that might be sufficient incentive for someone to take it?  In fact, I’m amazed you’ve held onto it this long!”  
  
Thingol set down his cup with a clatter. “No one in my court would dare!  Besides if anyone had been using it in that manner, the magic would be working.  We’d have spring.  Granted, not as glorious a spring as if I, a practiced wielder of the magic, were to be using it.  But some semblance of spring we would have.  There is none, not so much as a bud.  So, that cannot be the explanation.”  
  
Abruptly, Finrod turned to Oropher. “Have you taken that all down, assistant?”     
  
Oropher nodded.     
  
“I have to ask, then, my Lord. And this may be a delicate question,” Finrod said. “Why are you wearing a soup tureen? Surely, there is another substitute that would be more, um, I mean, less . . . ”  
  
“Odd?” Thingol growled.  He leaned forward.  “You Noldor do not understand anything, do you?  Why my niece Eärwen chose to marry one is beyond me.”  
  
“Perhaps it is because we Noldor do not require magic to stuff our hose,” Finrod remarked.    
  
Oropher could not avoid making a blot this time.  He bit his lip.  
  
Thingol’s eyes flashed. “Are you insulting me?”  
  
“Not at all.” Finrod waved a hand languidly at him. “Please forgive my flippancy. You were explaining . . .”  
  
“Your tongue is as well honed as your sister’s,” Thingol humphed. “If it weren’t for your investigative talents I would toss you out on your ear.  Very well. Here is the reason. I worry that Morgoth may try to attack me with some other sorcery. My senior adviser, Saeros, informed me the Belain are repulsed by copper.  Therefore, this is protection for the royal package. Um, also it was the first thing that I grabbed off the luncheon tray when we discovered my codpiece was missing.  I couldn’t very well prance about the halls waving it about, now could I?”  
  
Oropher bit the inside of his cheek in a last ditch effort to suppress the giggle. “Um, excuse me, my Lord, I must step outside for some air, just for a moment. If you please.”  
  
Finrod gave him a furious look that quelled the laughter. “Forgive my assistant, my Lord. He’s young and impressionable. Well then, as I see it, the next step is to examine your room.”  He leapt from his chair.  “Shall we?”  
  
Slowly the King rose, brushing crumbs from his brocade vest.  “Yes, of course.  I knew you would be just the help we needed.”  
  
“I’ll be along in a moment, after I’ve dried the notes,” Oropher choked out, as he sprinkled sand on the inked pages.  When he heard the door bang, he could not hold it in any longer. The laughter escaped with a loud whoosh and a cackle. Then, he whooped and howled, and held his sides.    
  
When he finally got himself under control, he folded his notes and stashed them in his pack.  He knew he must take this situation more seriously.  His father would give him a box on the ear and tell him he was muffing a marvelous opportunity.  Curse it, he felt his sides trembling again.  He reminded himself that this could be a dastardly plot right out of Angband and, if so, there could be a dangerous spy among them who might succeed in destroying his home. He wondered what it would be like to be cast out on the windy plain looking for roots to eat while orcs hunted them.  Not good at all.  And with that sobering thought, he quickly followed the King and his clever new Noldorin friend.    
  
******  
  
Oropher caught up with Finrod, King Thingol and a half dozen servants on their way to the King’s rooms.  Finrod said under his breath, “Did you manage to contain yourself?”  Oropher nodded, feeling chastened.  He soon found himself treading through a winding torchlit passageway that lead ever deeper into the mountainside.     
  
Finally Thingol halted the march in front of a large set of double doors upon which was carved  an immense flowering tree. “This is the entrance to the royal suite,” Thingol said. “including my private chambers and those of the Queen.”  
  
“I just need you to show me where you keep the royal codpiece,” Finrod said.  
  
“Follow me,” the King replied.  They entered another long hallway with multiple doors and finally paused outside one of them.  Thingol cleared his throat.  “It is best if all of you wait outside until I open the cabinet.  No need for all secrets to be revealed. The rest of you clear off.”  He waved at the servants, who bowed and left.  
  
The King disappeared behind the door for a few moments, then poked out his head. “You may come in now,” he said, stepping aside and flinging the door open.  
  
What Oropher saw positively dazzled him.  The room was immense with a large fireplace on one end and a  huge canopied bed on the other.  The ceiling, soaring at least twenty feet above them, was inlaid with crystals formed like the spring constellations at dusk. The stone floor was covered with finely woven carpets patterned like small white flowers and on the walls hung   marvelous tapestries filled with stags and does and capering elves playing musical instruments under magnificent flowering trees.  When he looked more closely, Oropher could see that hidden under bushes and cavorting in the fields were couples exuberantly celebrating spring in all sorts of amorous poses. He blushed to think of Melian and her maidens weaving these things and he wondered how he might commission one to cheer his own rooms at home.     
  
“They are marvelous, don’t you think?” Thingol said, waving at the tapestries. “Melian is a true artist.”  
  
Oropher nodded, dumb-struck, as he reflected that this was the very room where the King and Queen quickened the land into Spring.  The thought was, well, most inspiring.  
  
“Mouth,” Finrod warned, coming up behind him and Oropher shut it with a snap.  
  
Finrod went straight to the wall on the far side of the room, which was lined with ornately carved wooden cabinets about eight feet in height.  Two of the cabinet doors were flung wide revealing a  life-sized and exquisitely wrought stone sculpture of a naked elf that sported breasts and male genitalia.  It stood with one hand on its hip and the other raised pointing heavenward. About its waist was fastened the most magnificent girdle Oropher had ever seen, with a long tail that hung down to the statue’s knees. It was made of linked gold filigree medallions decorated with sapphire and diamond cabochons and white pearls and was so stunning that, for a moment, Oropher forgot to stare at the statue’s other attributes, or at the tapestries, or anything else suggesting the function of this room.  
  
“Magnificent,” Oropher said.    
  
Thingol strode forward and reverently lifted the end of the chain in one hand.  “She was wearing this when I first saw her, the loveliest creature I’d ever laid eyes upon,” he said softly. “I am still captivated by her, after all these years, and I shall ever be so.  But you see here,” he gestured needlessly at the statue’s groin, “this is where the Codpiece should be housed when I am not wearing it. And it is clearly . . . missing.”  
  
“What does it look like?” Oropher asked.  
  
“Diamond-studded black leather,” Thingol said.  “You remember it, Finrod?”  
  
“Yes, a sight never to be forgotten,” Finrod said. “I could hardly take my eyes from it. Well, let’s get to work, shall we?” He snapped his fingers in front of Oropher’s face.  “Assistant?”  
  
“Oh, yes,” Oropher said, scrambling to take out his paper and quill.  
  
“Is this the only entrance to this room?” Finrod asked.    
  
Thingol nodded.  Oropher made a note.  
  
Finrod proceeded to look around the room, peering at everything from different angles, even climbing on top of some chairs, while both Oropher and Thingol watched, mystified. Finrod approached the statue, pulled a large glass from a pocket on his tunic and held it up to his eye to examine the figure, who continued smiling benignly.  He leaned closer, then carefully lifted something from one of the filigree medallions on the Girdle. It looked to be a bit of gossamer. Finrod picked it up between thumb and forefinger, then attempted to shake it off.  When it wouldn't come free, he wiped it off on the statue's bum, and then looked at the ceiling of the closet. He stood for a moment, then bent suddenly and looked at the floor of the closet, took out the glass and examined it. Then he knocked on the panel behind the statue. It sounded rather hollow.    
  
“No need . . . ,” Thingol called.  
  
But Finrod had already stepped into the closet, squeezing past the statue. He ran his hands along the juncture of the two back panels, then turned and looked at the King with that amused quirk of the mouth. “Are you sure there is no other entrance to this room?” he asked and the back panel slid open revealing a shadowy hallway with cobwebs at the top of the doorframe.  Ah, the gossamer.  
  
“Well, um,” Thingol said.  
  
“You were saying?” Finrod replied.  
  
“It’s a secret exit, in case of attack,” Thingol said.  
  
“No one else knows about this?”  
  
“Except for Melian, to my knowledge, no one who still lives here,” Thingol said, twisting a piece of his tunic nervously. “I sent the elves who delved it to Ossiriand.”  
  
“A fitting reward,” Finrod said. “Where does it go?”  
  
“It comes out in the rock garden in the upper halls.”  
   
“Who resides near the rock garden?” Finrod asked.  
  
“Some members of the family enjoy living closer to the surface. Across the rock garden and up the flight of stairs under the boughs of Neldor, the beech tree, Lúthien resides and so does Celeborn.  And nearby are some of my counselors, Saeros and Daeron, among others.  There are quarters too for servants.”  
                                      
“And those rooms have been searched?”  
  
“Yes, most thoroughly.  I may say it caused much friction within the family.  They all thought I was accusing them of the monstrous theft.  Both Lúthien and Celeborn, in particular, whinged dreadfully about it.  You can imagine what dinners have been like.”  Thingol sighed.  
  
“I shall wish to see the rooms myself,” Finrod said.    
  
“Very well,” Thingol replied. “When do you think you’ll know the answer?”  
  
“As soon as I have gathered enough information and formulated a reasonable conclusion,” Finrod snapped.  
  
“Patience, my husband,” came a softly melodious voice.  Oropher turned and saw the Queen standing gracefully in the open doorway, regarding him with those blue, blue eyes. His heart made a soft fluttering somersault.   He could well see why Thingol had remained enthralled all these years.  He found himself going down on one knee, his scribbled notes lying forgotten on the floor.  
  
“Nay, rise, young Oropher,” she said, coming over to him and putting cool fingers under his chin. For a moment she stared blankly into the distance and then she said.  “You must learn patience too, my friend, for charging into the unknown is never wise.”  
  
“So, my father says,” Oropher stammered, completely awed.      
  
“You are well advised to listen to him.  Now then, husband, in your own haste to solve our problem, which is indeed pressing, but not imminent, have you forgotten how to fittingly welcome guests who have journeyed far to visit us?”  
  
“Oh, er, no of course not, my dear,” Thingol said.  “Perhaps we can resume the investigation, nephew, when you are washed and rested?”

*********      
Notes:    
On Celeborn:  There are several canon versions of Celeborn’s history.  For the purpose of this story, I’ve chosen the one in which he is Thingol’s grand nephew, living in Doriath.  
  
*********      
  



	3. Clues and Cures

_“Watson here will tell you that I can never resist a touch of the dramatic.”_  
Sherlock Holmes in _The Naval Treaty_

A short while later, Oropher found himself stretched out on a towel on the warm tile floor in a private room of the palace bath house, feeling clean and blissfully relaxed from smoking a pipe of echuilas. Finrod lay against the lip of a shallow, softly steaming pool sunk into the floor, his golden hair pinned up into a sloppy knot at the back of his head. He had his eyes closed and was enjoying his own pipe of Oropher’s herb. The smell drifted about the room with its usual effect on Oropher’s libido. He eyed Finrod surreptitiously, noting his broad shoulders and the strong curves of his arms and chest. Oropher’s gaze was irresistibly drawn further down into the bubbling water and he found a need to casually fold a corner of the towel over his lap. He wondered if it were possible that Finrod was interested in him? So far he had not shown any overt attraction, but he had invited him to bathe and to share a room, not to mention the whole assistant business. Suddenly, he had an unsettling thought. “Finrod, why . . .?”

Taking the pipe from his mouth, Finrod declared, “Hush! I am thinking.”

“Thinking while smoking echuilas?” Oropher said. “I use it for relaxation and for treating headaches, but rarely for serious thought.”

“I find it stimulating,” Finrod said. 

“Well, yes, that too.”

Finrod opened his eyes which shone like a starlit night and regarded Oropher intently. “Stimulating for the thought process, young Oropher, and for enhanced creativity. All other uses must keep to their own time and place. This is a three-pipe problem.” He closed his eyes again. “You are wondering why the absence of the Codpiece has failed to affect us as it has the others.”

“Um,” Oropher said. “How did you . . .?”

“Several times today I have noticed a certain manifestation of interest on your part,” Finrod said. “And yet, according to the King and other members of his court, we should both be feeling the wilting affect of the Codpiece’s separation from the Girdle. Apparently, we are not.”

Oropher felt himself blush with more than the heat in the room. So Finrod _had_ noticed and had not responded. Perhaps he only liked women. Although Oropher could swear he’d sensed something from the Noldo. This was quite disconcerting. “Yes, that is what I was wondering,” he said.

Finrod looked at the pipe thoughtfully. “How often do you smoke this?”

“About once a day,” Oropher said. “Ada says I should cut down, but I see no need to.”

“There, I suspect you have your answer,” Finrod said. “You could experiment by trying it out on someone.” He sucked on the pipe and then, one after the other, blew three beautifully rounded smoke rings in Oropher’s direction. “And if it works you have the means to make yourself some coin.”

“I do?”

“You have a good mind, my dear Oropher, which is just wanting some exercise. Think about it.”

Finrod leaned his head back against the edge of the pool. Oropher watched smoke drifting upward before he suddenly figured out what Finrod meant. “Ah, I see,” he said. “You are suggesting that if echuilas restores desire, I could sell it as a temporary cure until such time as the Codpiece is found.”

“Got it in one,” Finrod replied. 

“I don’t have much with me,” Oropher said, reluctant to part with the last of his leaf. 

“I suggest you go to the apothecary and trade all your other herbs for what he has in his store. Once you’ve sold what you have, you can buy more and pocket the difference, until they figure it out. You’ll have to hurry as there will be a limited time to market it.”

“Do you think you’ll solve the mystery soon, then?” Oropher said. 

“Hmmm,” Finrod thoughtfully puffed. “I require one more pipeful. Read something back to me, Oropher, from your notes. When exactly did Thingol say the Codpiece disappeared?”

“No need, I remember. He said, three fortnights ago.”

“Three. That is what I thought. Curious.”

Just then they were interrupted by one of the servants, who came in and bowed. “Pardon me, good sirs,” he said. “The Lady Galadriel is most anxious to see you. I have put her off as long as I can . . .”

“Ah, the other shoe drops,” Finrod said with satisfaction. “We won’t require the third pipe after all.”

There was a commotion outside the room. The door opened and Oropher heard the servant protesting, “But my lady, this is not proper . . .”

“It’s been hours since the twilight bell chimed,” a woman said. “I will not be ignored any longer. He is my older brother and I’ve seen him in all states of dress or lack thereof. His nudity is of little moment.” She shoved by the flustered servant, came right into the room, and planting her hands on her hips, gave Finrod a scolding look. “Findaráto Ingoldo, what are you doing hiding out in here . . . smoking and,” she looked at Oropher, “whatever else you’re doing.” 

“She may stay,” Finrod said to the servant, who bowed and left. “Hello dear sister. To answer your question, I am taking a well-earned bath after a long journey and contemplating the problem the King is having with Doriath’s lack of seasons, which requires _quiet._ A concept, I daresay, you have some difficulty with.”

She began walking back and forth, her skirts swishing. “How can you be so flippant when there are serious matters at stake here?”

Finrod blew a smoke ring at her. 

As Oropher had noted before, Galadriel was a feminine version of Finrod, with similar strong features and the same marvelous hair resembling spun gold with silver highlights. She wore it in two plaits with a netted caul of pearls upon her head. Her dress was a beautiful two-toned sky blue, with a girdle formed of many delicate golden chains. She turned a scornful gaze upon Oropher. He grabbed a towel and covered up his chest. 

“I see you’ve picked up another pretty boy. What would Amarië have to say about that?”

“What she always said on the subject,” Finrod said mildly. “But then she could have come with us to Endórë and instead chose to stay behind and miss all the fun crossing the Helcaraxë. You and I have been over this endlessly and I fear I cannot undo what’s been done. In any case, your assumption is invalid. Young Oropher is merely assisting me with the investigation.”

“Assisting, is that what you’re calling it now,” she sniffed.

“He is a well-known healer from Nivrim and son of a respectable lord. I would suggest my dear Artanis, or Galadriel if you prefer, that you cease insulting those who may be able to help you and explain why you conspired to steal King Thingol’s Codpiece.” 

There was a stunned silence. Galadriel’s mouth flapped open in a way that was becoming familiar to Oropher. “I can’t believe you would think that,” she spluttered. “I would never . . .” 

Finrod’s face remained impassive. “You need not play the wounded innocent with me, Artanis. I know you far too well and you are not one to be lecturing me about _my_ faults.” 

She glanced at Oropher and her voice lowered. “Findaráto, please, this is not a matter for outsiders.”

“I suggest that I meet you and your co-conspirator in his room in order to discuss this further. Just be kind enough to allow us time to dress or we will cause a scandal coming to your rooms bare arsed and dripping water across his Majesty’s floors.” 

Galadriel eyed Oropher doubtfully. 

“And yes, he comes along,” Finrod said.

“Very well,” she replied. “But if he so much as breathes a word, he won’t need to wear a codpiece ever again.” She glared at Oropher with a warrior’s glint in her eye. 

If Oropher had not experienced the wilting effect of the missing codpiece before, he certainly did now.

“The King made a similar threat so I think he is well aware of the peril of a loose tongue,” Finrod said. 

“I will see you anon,” she replied and sailed out of the room.

“Is she serious?” Oropher asked.

“You have no idea,” Finrod replied. “She is most formidable.”

“By the Belain, how did you know about her involvement?” Oropher asked.

“I did not know; I suspected. No doubt Celeborn knows all about his great uncle’s hidden staircase, which exits near to his rooms. And it is always best to look for what has changed in a situation. Something overcame my dear sister’s resistance to Celeborn’s suit. So then it was a matter of waiting for her to come to me so I could make the accusation and watch her reaction.”

“But if they took the Codpiece, why don’t they just put it back?” Oropher asked.

“Ah, now you’re thinking,” Finrod replied, tapping his temple with the pipestem. He set it down and then rose dripping and splendid from the bath. “The situation is even more urgent than I’d thought. She didn’t even give me time to smoke the third pipe.”

*********

Oropher was both pleased and somewhat embarrassed to find that the outfit laid out for him in Finrod’s rooms sported a lovely yellow codpiece, which made a stunning contrast to the black tights and short black jacket with yellow pinstripes and white chemise with ruffles at the cuffs.

“You look like a bee,” Finrod pronounced once Oropher was dressed. 

“I do?” Oropher asked, abashed.

“A particularly alluring one,” Finrod said, more gently. “I wonder if you have a sting in your tail?” 

“Surely not,” Oropher said uncomfortably. There again was that mixed signal. Was Finrod interested or not? Oropher busied himself organizing the herbs in his pouch. 

In the meantime, Finrod dressed in grey hose and a jacket of dark crimson velvet with a dusting of tiny stars embroidered in silver thread. His tunic, although form-fitting, modestly covered his thighs and had long sleeves, laced from wrist to elbow. He braided two long plaits at his temples and pulled them back behind his head with the jeweled clasps. The rest of his golden mane he left loose and flowing down his back. Although he looked magnificent, Oropher was secretly disappointed.

“Why do you not dress in the style of the court?” he asked.

Finrod smiled and clapped him on the back. “This is the way I’ve always dressed and it suits me. In any case, it’s better neither to tempt or be tempted,” he said. “Shall we go see what Celeborn has to say for himself?”

*********

Finrod had no need of servants to take him to Celeborn’s rooms since Thingol had explained where they were. From his previous visits, he seemed to know much of the twisting passages of Menegroth by heart, although he confessed he had never before entered the inner sanctum of King Thingol’s rooms. 

“How did you find that hidden door?” Oropher said, hoping he did not sound too worshipful. 

“Simple observation,” Finrod replied. They climbed a long, winding stair which eventually led to Celeborn’s chambers. Finrod knocked on the door.

“Oh, there you are at last,” Celeborn said when the servant presented them. “Come in, come in.” He gestured them into a sitting room with wide-backed chairs and a nice fire. 

Celeborn was nearly as handsome as Finrod, but his features were less delicately hawkish and more ruggedly chiseled. He was tall with that plaited silver-white hair, and tarn-blue eyes under low-riding dark brows. Oropher felt intimidated to be among such beautiful and illustrious company, so he hovered discreetly in the background. 

Galadriel was already seated and drinking something from a silver goblet. She rose and embraced Finrod.

“Forgive my earlier rudeness,” she said. “I really am quite glad to see you.”

Finrod smiled at her. “And I am always pleased to see you. I hear you are engaged. Congratulations. To you both.”

“Thank you,” Celeborn murmured. “I shall be pleased to call you brother, once we are wed.”

“And when might that be?” Finrod asked.

“At this point, we do not know because of the present circumstances,” Celeborn said. “Please sit.” 

“Some wine?” Galadriel asked. Her face appeared tense.

“Please,” Finrod responded. “My assistant Oropher, as well.” He indicated Oropher, who slunk into a chair next to him while warily eying Finrod’s sister. 

At a nod from Galadriel, the servant presented Fingon and Oropher with tall, silver goblets. “You may go,” Galadriel said to the servant.

Finrod took a swallow. “Very good,” he said. “Now then.”

“Um,” Celeborn said. 

Finrod leaned back in his chair. “As my dear sister knows, I detest dancing about a subject, so let’s just charge past the nervous ums and sighs and hand-wringing, shall we, and dive right in. You borrowed the King’s magic codpiece for reasons that are best left unexplored, but no doubt had to do with my sister’s voracious appetite, don’t deny it Artanis, and you, my dear deluded fellow, wished to impress her. And apparently it succeeded beyond your wildest dreams, Celeborn, as you are now betrothed.”

Celeborn’s eyes widened, while Galadriel’s narrowed.

“You have no idea what the effect of that thing is,” Celeborn said, shaking his head. “I am surprised my uncle is still sane. Honestly, I really did not mean any harm. I didn’t anticipate . . .”

Galadriel laid her hand over Celeborn’s and squeezed his fingers. “You have no need to apologize, darling. My brother has a crude way of putting things. It was a generous impulse and led to a magical, Arda-shaking encounter beyond anything . . .”

“Yes, yes, its use led to spectacular love-making,” Finrod interrupted. “The earth moved and your fëar merged and now you are mated for life. You meant no harm and no doubt you intended to return it after one try, except that the experience was so delightful that you kept it at least a fortnight. The spring flowers bloomed happily under your administration, as normal, and then all of a sudden, you ceased using it. Why?”

“It disappeared,” Celeborn said. He got up and began pacing back and forth, dragging his hands through his hair. 

“It disappeared?” Oropher said, forgetting to keep his mouth shut.

“Completely,” Celeborn said, distraught. “It vanished as if by magic, which I’m beginning to think it was. Either that or it was stolen by someone. Oh, my dear brother-to-be, this is a calamity beyond calamities.”

“What have you done to recover it?”

“We tore this room apart,” Celeborn said. “Both Galadriel and I asked anyone living in this wing if they had visited our rooms while we were out.”

“Questioning others was made very difficult because we had to be careful about how we phrased things,” Galadriel said. “We couldn’t reveal that we knew it had been in Celeborn’s room, so we had to put our enquiry within the context of the larger search for the Corongyll. And because of the King’s desire for secrecy about the whole affair, we couldn’t reveal why the darn thing was so important. It has greatly hampered the investigation. Not to mention the fact that Melian has a certain prescience that put the whole problem on very shaky ground.”

“I wondered about that,” Finrod said. “She sometimes seems to have an uncanny ability to see the future, but often can’t see something right under her own nose.”

Galadriel nodded. “An astute observation. She confided to me once that a great part of her power went into the fashioning of the Girdle and Codpiece. She is concerned about the effect of having done it because sometimes she feels ungrounded and sort of floating, and occasionally doesn’t remember people’s names or whether something happened yesterday or last month.”

Oropher thought this not so remarkable. He often couldn’t remember what day of the week it was. 

“So, you see, Findaráto, why I urged the King to consult with you?” Galadriel continued. “Celeborn and I have done all we can to solve the mystery. The King resisted calling on you at first. I think this has been a terrible embarrassment but I reminded him how you solved the disappearance of his favorite groom when we first arrived at Menegroth and he agreed that you might be useful. So now you know the truth. We are in dreadful need of both your deductive skills and your discretion. We cannot admit that we borrowed the Codpiece and then lost it. No doubt the King would banish us both or worse. Certainly, he would never allow the marriage.”

“I’m wondering myself whether to give my blessing to such libertines,” Finrod said, although Oropher could tell he was teasing. “Are you certain you didn’t just misplace it while out on a walk in the forest?”

“I am sure,” Celeborn said with dignity. “It is the most precious thing in the realm next to Melian’s Girdle. I took great care of it. Come, let me show you.”

They rose and Celeborn led them into his bedroom, which was less grand than his great uncle’s, but still quite sumptuously appointed. An unusual feature of the room was that one side was formed from the living trunk of the immense beech tree. Oropher went and put his hand on the smooth, grey bark and looked up at the peaked wooden ceiling. 

“Just as Neldor’s roots comprise the roof of the King’s throne room, my chambers are built against one of the three trunks,” Celeborn explained. “I quite like it.”

“When and where did you last see the Codpiece?” Finrod said, after a cursory glance at the tree. 

“I kept it out of sight on the bureau.” Celeborn stood on tip-toes, reached to the top of a tall and very ornate bureau, and brought down a velvet cushion, which he handed to Finrod. “No one should have been able to see it up there. As for when, it was two fortnights ago. I rose in the morning, checked that it was still there, and then went out. When I looked for it again late that afternoon, it was missing.”

“Are you sure the servants didn’t dust up there and discover it?”

“I stayed in the room with them while they cleaned,” Celeborn said. “They did not come near it.”

“There is only the one door? No secret entrances?” Finrod stamped on the floor, “No underground passages into the room? No one has bored into the tree?”

“None, truly,” Celeborn said. “All is secure.”

“Who lives on the other side of the stair?”

“Lúthien,” Celeborn said. “But she would never have taken it. She would have no interest in such things.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Finrod replied. “And down below, who is there?”

“Daeron and near him, Saeros,” Celeborn said. “And the servants’ quarters. There are a dozen of them.” 

“Hmm,” Finrod said. “I will need to examine their rooms.”

At that moment, Oropher’s stomach made an embarrassing growling noise. He found that he was feeling lightheaded from hunger, as the light repast of crumpets in the King’s library was now a long time ago and breakfast even longer ago than that. “Weren’t you expected for dinner, Lord Finrod?” he asked. 

Finrod was lost in thought, frowning down at the velvet cushion.

“We were asked to dine with the King this evening. Just family,” Galadriel said in her deep, musical voice. She shot a warning glance at Oropher, then turned to Finrod and clutched his arm. “I know you, Findaráto. You won’t be able to resist showing off. You promise you’ll not breathe a word of any of this at dinner?”

“I promise, for as long as it is possible,” Finrod said, solemnly. “And I’ll do my best to solve this expeditiously and without giving your secret away, but I will not lie for you two. The future of my own realm is bound up with Thingol’s good will and I won’t jeopardize it, even to protect my sister and her future husband.”

Galadriel and Celeborn looked unhappily at one another. Oropher’s stomach growled again.

***********

Seeing that he was not invited to the private dinner, Oropher took the opportunity to follow up on Finrod’s suggestion. He located an apothecary in the lower hall where there were quite a few vendors and traded all his medicinal herbs for a pound of echuilas. When the apothecary asked, with an uplifted eyebrow, why he needed so much, Oropher confided that he was afflicted with a terrible and recurring pain in his groin. Echuilas was the only thing that cured it. The man humphed but made the trade anyway. 

Oropher then stopped by another shop and traded for a large meat pie and two tankards of ale, which he rapidly consumed. Feeling much restored and even rather merry, he procured a bright red umbrella, which he carried up to the main gallery to protect himself from the excreting birds. Twirling the umbrella jauntily over his head, he began dancing about while singing Finrod’s song as loudly as he could. 

_Lately, when fancy too did roam,_  
_Thou wert my dear, a honeycomb;_  
_And had I been a pretty bee_  
_How I would suck_  
_Oh! How I would creep, creep into thee._

At first it did not go well. No one asked the reason for his gaiety. Instead, passing elves stared at him as if he had taken leave of his senses and hurried by. He had almost decided to quit this new enterprise when he recognized Limbor across the hall. “Ho, Limbor, are you on your way home?” he called out. “Come, my friend, I wish to share my good fortune! I have discovered a spring tonic.”

Limbor hesitated, and then came over to him. “You do indeed look to be in a remarkably good humor, young Oropher,” he growled. “Did your audience with the King go well then?”

“Yes, but even more remarkable, I can make love again!” This last was said in a gleeful cry of ecstasy that few in the vicinity missed. A half dozen male elves all stopped in mid-stride.

“You can?” Limbor asked. “How?”

“I am a healer of great renown in Nivrim,” Oropher said loudly, as the group of elves, looking quite tasty in their colorful codpieces, began to drift closer. “And in the hopes of coming up with a cure for our malady, I experimented with various concoctions until I found just the right one. Here, I’ll share some with you. Hold this.” He handed Limbor the umbrella just in time for it to deflect a hurtling white missile, and pulled two pipes from his pack, which he proceeded to stuff with some leaf. A nearby lamp provided the flame. The dark-haired beauty he’d noticed earlier with the long fringed codpiece approached. 

“May I try it?” he asked. 

“Very well,” Oropher said, handing over his pipe. 

The two elves were soon puffing away under the umbrella, while Oropher entertained them with more bawdy songs. The dark-haired elf, whose name was Normegil, began singing in harmony with him. 

“I’m feeling a little something, I think,” Limbor said breathlessly. “How long will it take to work?”

“Not long,” Oropher said. “Here, have a pinch more.”

“I can’t tell if it is doing anything,” Limbor complained. 

“Give me the pipe,” Oropher said. “Here.” He handed both pipes to Normegil, and then seized Limbor about the waist, jerking their groins together. Rubbing shamelessly up against him, Oropher raked a long, deep, juicy kiss across the elf’s mouth. 

“Mmph, mmph,” Limbor protested, arms flailing, but Oropher refused to let him go. In fact, he was quite enjoying himself.

“Here now, how rude! This is not the place . . . ,” Normegil remonstrated, trying to pull Oropher off the warden with one hand, while holding two lit pipes in the other. 

Finally, Oropher released Limbor, who stepped back with a look of shock. “By the Belain,” he said. “It works! Oh happy day!”

Grabbing Normegil’s hand, Oropher pressed it to his fully awakened rod that was nicely filling out his yellow codpiece. “Do you believe me now?” 

A beatific smile bloomed on the elf’s face as he gently felt Oropher’s tumescence. “Oh yes, yes,” Normegil declared. “That is a fine development. A miracle!” He slapped a hand up against his own swollen codpiece. “Do you have more of that herb?” 

They were now in the middle of a knot of a dozen intrigued elves. 

“I have a limited quantity,” Oropher said. “But I’d rather not part with any more.”

Limbor unslung a bag from his shoulder and fumbled in it. “I have gold,” he said, holding out several shiny coins. 

Oropher stroked his chin. “I don’t know,” he said doubtfully.

“I have a ruby earring,” Normegil said, unhooking it from his lobe. “Please, if you could sell some of that remedy, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“And I too,” cried another elf with slanted green eyes. 

“Well, perhaps, in the name of good relations between Menegroth and Nivrim . . . ,” Oropher said. The crowd pressed eagerly in around him. 

********** 

Wearing a new ruby earring, Oropher headed towards Finrod’s room considerably richer than when he’d left. His already fine mood had benefited greatly when Normegil led him behind a curtain and offered a more direct exchange for an additional ration of Oropher’s magic cure. Now he intended to eat some more supper, get drunk, and see if Finrod would be sufficiently impressed with his cleverness to want to go to bed with him. He stopped off at a vendor’s stall to get a large cheese, some bread, and two bottles of potent red wine. 

When he reached the room, Finrod wasn’t there, so he stoked up the fire, took off his shoes, lay down on the bed and began to work on the getting drunk part. He was well on his way and was amusing himself by stuffing bits of cheese into small chunks of bread, throwing them up in the air, and attempting to catch them in his mouth, when the Noldo opened the door and stalked into the room, looking most unhappy. 

“Greetings,” Oropher said. He sat up against the pillows and preened, hoping Finrod would notice the new earring. “How successful was your evening?”

“Dismal,” Finrod said. “Not a clue from any of them. Lúthien is a spoiled brat, by the way. I see you’ve had a much better night. Think you could share that bottle with me?”

“Be my guest. I have two,” Oropher said, waving unsteadily at the bottle sitting nearly empty on the night stand. “Did you sing your song?”

“I sang several and so did Daeron. It did not go over as well as anticipated. The King was not in a mood to enjoy light-hearted ditties and instead requested Daeron’s epic about the battle at Amon Ereb – full of smiting and slaying and heroic breast-beating. I was bored,” Finrod said. He poured himself a cup of wine and surveyed the crumbs on the bed. “Stars above, have you been feeding birds in here?” he asked, while sweeping the coverlet off with several quick flicks of his wrist.

“No, um, sorry. Just passing the time.” Oropher joined the cleaning efforts and then was overcome with enthusiasm again. “Look what I got,” he said, bouncing off the bed and grabbing his pack. He returned and dumped a glittering pile of coins and jewelry of various sorts onto the bed. 

“Ah, well done,” Finrod said. “Clever lad! Never underestimate the need for carnal gratification, eh?”

Oropher positively beamed at the approval. He was feeling a certain need for some carnal gratification himself. 

“Did you sell all your stock?” Finrod asked.

“No, I kept some back for personal use,” Oropher said. “Would you like some?”

“Please,” Finrod said. “This is a . . .”

“I know, a three-pipe problem. That’s about what I have. I’ll have to go buy some more tomorrow at the apothecary. Don’t you like the earring?” Oropher pinged it with his finger.

“I do.” Finrod actually smiled. “You must have met up with that elf with the unusual fringe on his codpiece. I noticed he was wearing that earring yesterday.”

“That’s the one. He had a most talented mouth,” Oropher said. He watched for Finrod’s reaction and getting none, put his loot back in his pack and took out the pipes and the pouch of remaining echuilas. 

“Hmm, did he sing for you, then?” Finrod asked in all seriousness, although Oropher thought he detected a quirk at the corner of his mouth.

“In a manner of speaking,” Oropher replied, handing him the pipe. He reflected that for someone as keen at observation as Finrod, he was clearly not getting the signals Oropher was throwing at him. What did Finrod want from him? Was he only interested in Oropher’s echuilas? But why make him his assistant and share a room with him, a room with only one large bed, if he had no other motives? It was most peculiar. And Galadriel had said, ‘I see you’ve picked up another pretty boy.’ _Another_ meant there had been others. Didn’t it? But so far, there had been no overt flirtation or expression of interest on Finrod’s part. The question was how far could Oropher go to entice him without risking insult or rejection? 

“I am going to get more comfortable,” Oropher said, unhooking the front of his jacket. “Do you mind?”

Finrod made a non-committal gesture and sat down in a chair near the fire. 

“Something I’ve been wondering,” Oropher said. “How did you know that Celeborn and Galadriel had the Codpiece for a fortnight.” He took off the jacket and then pulled his ruffled shirt over his head so that he was only wearing the leggings with their colorful decoration. 

Finrod stood and grabbed a stick from the pile of kindling in a basket near the fire. He stuck it in the fire and then used it to light the pipe. “That one was easy. Three sources, one was Fangorn. Remember he said that his wife was complaining about a lack of wood for a lunar cycle, two fortnights. The second was the King and the third you, yourself.”

“Me?” Oropher said. “Oh yes, I told you that spring had begun and then stopped about two fortnights ago, didn’t I?”

“Good lad, well observed,” Finrod said beaming. He handed Oropher the lit twig and paused to stare at Oropher’s bared chest. “Won’t you be cold like that?”

“It is warm enough in here, I reckon,” Oropher said. He gave Finrod what others had often termed his _dazzling_ smile.

Finrod actually blushed. He looked at the floor, then sat back in the chair. “I dislike distractions when I’m working on a problem, young Oropher,” he said. “Now then, if you don’t mind I’ll go over what happened this evening.”

“Go on,” Oropher said, heartily disappointed. He flopped down on the bed, lying on his stomach.

“It was a busy night. After dinner, I visited the other quarters near Celeborn’s rooms, and had discussions with several of the servants, who seemed most irritated at being questioned yet again. Then I spoke with the guards who had searched the entire palace. Now it is possible in such a large space for someone to have moved ahead of the guards, changing the location of the Codpiece. But it would have to be someone with inside knowledge of their pattern, which they told me was systematic, but random in appearance. And of course, if someone had tried to smuggle it out of either of the main gates, it would have been discovered in that rather thorough inspection. So that leaves an unknown exit. 

“As for the most likely suspects, those close to the King, none of my comments elicited any suspicious reaction at dinner tonight. Daeron is clearly infatuated with Lúthien. He couldn’t take his eyes off her all through dinner, but she did not so much as blink at him. I daresay, if he showed up at her door wearing a diamond-studded codpiece, it would only have sent her screaming into the night. A fact I’m sure he knows. Too bad, because he is lovely and very talented, but there’s no accounting for taste.” He paused. “This is a real puzzle.” 

“Perhaps the culprit is hiding it in plain sight,” Oropher said. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if I had a codpiece I wanted to hide, I’d hide it under my normal one. No one would know.”

“Ah, now there’s a thought,” Finrod said with satisfaction. “But we can hardly line up all the male elves in Menegroth to check. Can you see yourself feeling up the entire population, Oropher?”

Oropher opened his mouth to say no, and then shut it again. Perhaps he could at that. 

Finrod laughed. “You seem tempted to try it, but I imagine that we’d just get our noses bloodied.” He shifted in the chair. “No, I doubt that anyone here has it. Only a limited number of people could have taken it from Celeborn’s room, and all of them know by now that the King is desperately searching for it, even if they don’t know the reason why. I can’t imagine that someone still has it and has either failed to use it or failed to return it to the King. I have a distinct feeling it’s not here anymore. But how did someone smuggle it out of Menegroth?” He closed his eyes and blew out another smoke ring. 

Resting his chin in his hands, Oropher watched Finrod, who seemed off in his own world. He wished he could solve the problem for him, as he was finding he liked him very much indeed. He rolled over onto his back, stared at their low ceiling full of little stalactites and sighed. “Finrod,” he said, “would you fancy a walk under the stars?” 

“It would not be practical to try to leave at this time of night. Why?”

Oropher rolled back over. “I think it would be nice. It feels rather close and suffocating inside the caves. I don’t think I could live in here all the time like these elves. I’d miss the wind and the sunlight and the stars. I expect that’s why Celeborn had a window constructed in his roof.”

Finrod’s eyes flew open. He sat up and stared at Oropher. “There’s a window in his roof?”

“Oh yeah. Didn’t you see it? Of course it was hard to see, it being night and all and located so high up there. I only noticed because I saw a few pinpricks of starlight through it and I thought he had fake stars in his ceiling like King Thingol, but then I noticed the glint of lamplight on glass.” 

“Ha! That’s it,” Finrod cried. He bounded over, caught Oropher’s face between his hands and kissed his forehead. “You are a genius! I knew you’d prove useful. Now, in the morning, we’ll need to get ourselves a ladder and pay Celeborn a visit.”

Oropher was positively tingling from the praise. The kiss was nice too, although he would have preferred it lower down. But he had doubts. “As I recall, the tree was immense and the trunks straight and smooth for a long way above the ground before it branched. I don’t see how anyone could have climbed up to that window from the outside.”

“In the morning we shall go investigate and see what we shall see,” Finrod said. Pleased, he leaned back in his chair with the pipe tilted upward at a jaunty angle. 

“You really like solving riddles like this, don’t you?” Oropher said. 

Finrod looked at him. “It’s my passion in life.”

“Don’t you have any other passions?” Oropher wiggled his bottom hopefully.

“Yes, I am passionate about many things, including my kin, however wrong I think some of their actions have been, and for my adopted country,” Finrod said. He winked at Oropher. “Occasionally I indulge a few others.” He tapped the pipe out on the fireplace, set it down, and stretched. “Well, then time for sleep, so we can get an early start. Can you make sure to sweep out the remaining crumbs? I dislike prickles in bed.”

“Oh, sure,” said Oropher, hastening to do it. Then, he crawled under the covers. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Finrod remove his clothing, all but for his grey hose that sported a nice bulge that Oropher thought would be fun to investigate. Finrod stood for a moment, bare-chested, warming his backside at the fire. Oropher licked his lips. Then Finrod went to his saddle bags, wrested a white linen sleep shirt from them, slipped it on, blew out the lamps, and climbed into the bed, which creaked and moaned briefly while he got settled. He turned his back to Oropher. A deep quiet settled over the room only broken by the occasional crack and pop of the fire. 

Oropher was completely at a loss. Sleeping in a bed with a fully able partner who seemed disinterested was an unprecedented turn of events for him. “Finrod,” he finally ventured. 

“Huh?”

“Don’t you like me, even a little bit?” he asked, rather plaintively.

The bed shifted as Finrod turned back over. “Yes, I like you rather a lot,” he said. “Or you wouldn’t be here. Trust me, I’m not overly charitable and do not suffer fools.” 

“Then why . . .”

Finrod chuckled. “I’ve been burned in the past by stretching my hand to a flame. Just leave it at that, will you? So then, if my guess is correct, we’ll solve this mystery tomorrow and your fame and fortune will be secured in the King’s eyes. Is that not enough?”

No, it wasn’t. Oropher merely sighed. 

“You remind me of myself when I was young,” Finrod said. “Full of life, living in the moment. I found out the hard way that actions have consequences. So, I learned to use my head, not my heart. You must do the same or you may come to grief.” 

“But I enjoy living in the moment,” Oropher said.

“Sleep now.”

Finrod turned back over and soon Oropher heard his breathing deepen. Surreptitiously, he moved over, closer and then closer still, until he was curled up against Finrod’s warm back. He sighed again and the fatigue of the long day took him. 

***********  
Normegil - hard sword in Sindarin  
***********


	4. The Game's Afoot

_"Come, Watson, come! The game is afoot. Not a word! Into your clothes and come!"_  
Sherlock Holmes in the _Adventure of the Abbey Grange._

Oropher awoke suffering from a hang-over and a raging hard on. He was plastered against Finrod’s side with one arm thrown about the Noldo’s waist and inelegantly drooling on his shoulder. Finrod lay face up, his golden hair splayed on the pillows. Grumpily, Oropher sat up and wiped the saliva from his mouth. Not since he was a small child had he ever spent the night so chastely in someone else’s bed. He wondered whether he should jump Finrod and see how long the Noldo could continue to resist, or if he should sit there a while, thinking about something unpleasant until he could deflate enough to take a piss. He wished he knew where Normegil lived. At least he had been interested. Curse Finrod anyway for being so obstinate.

He sat up and moaned, putting his head in his hands. 

Finrod stirred. “Too much wine?” he chuckled. 

“Yeah, and not enough of . . . other things,” Oropher said. “I’m smoking up the last of my echuilas for this rotten head of mine and leaving none for you.” 

“Ooh, bad mood too,” Finrod said, opening those intense blue-grey eyes. “One might think Thingol’s missing codpiece was getting to you.” Then, he frowned and wiped off his shoulder.

“You know exactly why I’m in a bad mood,” Oropher said. He rose and padded over to the separate room which, marvelous to say, had running water in the piss pot. He remembered last night when they set their packs down in the room, Finrod had spent an hour studying the plumbing mechanism, vowing to apply it to his own dwelling in Nargothrond. However, right now all Oropher cared about was that it worked and did not stink. 

“All right, then, Assistant, shall we solve the mystery so that everyone in Menegroth can regain a good humor?” Finrod called from the other room. He appeared and worked the pump that allowed water to flow into the basin, washed his face, and got dressed. Oropher followed his example, albeit more slowly. They consumed the rest of Oropher’s bread and cheese, and had a quick smoke before heading out of the room.

By that time, Oropher’s mood had improved. “Now where?” he asked.

“We should find a ladder. I expect the most likely spot would be the builders’ quarter,” Finrod said.

“I saw one in the main hall yesterday,” Oropher said. “They were using it to clean the bird crap from the stonework.”

“Good,” Finrod said. “That is closer. Let’s go see if we can get the loan of it for an hour.”

*********

Finrod and Oropher procured a collapsible pine ladder with little problem. With some difficulty and inadvertent comedy, together they carried it up the winding stair to Celeborn’s rooms. Knocking on the door woke up a servant, who expressed surprise at seeing them with their unwieldy burden.

“We need to see Celeborn,” Finrod announced.

“His lordship is asleep,” the elf declared solemnly. He rubbed the sleep from his own eyes. 

“Not for long,” Finrod declared. He pushed past the spluttering elf and they carried the ladder into the hallway. Finrod pounded on the bedroom door. “Get up, Celeborn, the day is a wasting!” he cried. 

Shortly thereafter, a sleepy Celeborn emerged, long hair unbraided and askew, wearing a long grey robe. “Finrod? This is an uncivilized hour of the morning,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“We have a lead!” Finrod announced gleefully, as he marched past Celeborn carrying one end of the ladder. Celeborn glared at Oropher, who shrugged as best he could while carrying the other end.

“A ladder?” Celeborn declared. “Are you crazy?” 

“Ah, there is a window up there!” Finrod cried. “Good eyes, Oropher!” Indeed, the light of a gloriously rosy dawn suffused in through a large window set into the canted roof. 

“Of course there is a window,” Celeborn said. “I could have told you that, if you’d asked. Are you suggesting that someone could have climbed down from there to steal the Codpiece? Impossible! Even if someone could have dropped twenty feet to the floor without injury, there is no way to scale the tree from the outside.”

“Come, Oropher, let’s set this up here,” Finrod said They rested the ladder on its side, pulled out the second tier and slotted it into place, and then the two of them raised it into position, with Celeborn hovering nervously behind them. 

“Now Celeborn, how do you open it?” Finrod asked.

“What?”

“The window, man! Are you daft?” Finrod said. 

“Just because you will be my future brother-in-law is no reason to be start calling me names,” Celeborn said.

Finrod grabbed Celeborn by the front of his robe. “Wake up and smell the cherry blossoms, Celeborn! If what I think has happened, young Oropher and I are about to save your arse, as well as that of your betrothed, my sister. I just need to perform an experiment. Are you willing to help or do I need to shove you out into the hall?”

Celeborn paused for a moment, then nodded. “Very well, but I think you’ve lost your mind. The window opens with a crank, like so.” He reached behind the bureau and pulled out a long metal pole with a hook on one end and a bent handle on the other. Raising the pole to the side of the window, he inserted the hook into a metal loop and began rotating it around. The window slowly creaked outward. Oropher and Finrod craned their necks watching.

“I usually open it only half way,” Celeborn said. 

“Open it as wide as possible,” Finrod replied. 

“What? Do you think squirrels took the Codpiece?” Celeborn said scornfully. 

“Something like that,” Finrod said. He removed one of the jeweled clasps from his hair and set it on top of the bureau where the Codpiece had last been seen.

“Now, we need a place to hide,” Finrod declared.

“Here,” Oropher said excitedly. He opened the wardrobe that stood on the opposite wall and scrambled inside. 

“You too, Celeborn,” Finrod declared. The next thing Oropher knew, the Lord Celeborn was being shoved into the wardrobe, crammed next to him. Finrod came in last, shutting the door nearly closed while holding onto the wooden frame with his fingertips. There was hardly any room for two, let alone three, and Oropher was shoved against the back of the wardrobe up against some heavy cloaks. He could barely move, mashed as he was against Finrod’s backside and with Celeborn’s elbow in his ribs and breathing heavily in his ear. 

“If you don’t tell me what this is about . . . ,” Celeborn threatened. 

“Shut up,” Finrod ordered and at the same time Oropher said, “Shhh.” 

Finrod bent over slightly to put his eye to the crack in the door and Oropher managed to get his head in over Finrod’s. From that vantage point, he could just see the bureau across the room. “What now?” he whispered.

“We wait,” Finrod said. 

“Guh, mumph,” Celeborn said, trying to push a heavy cloak from his face.

“Stop wiggling, Celeborn,” Finrod said. “And prove yourself worthy of my sister. If you aren’t still, I swear, I’ll punch you. I would be willing to bet my eyeteeth this will work.”

Finrod sounded so excited that it was catching. However, the anticipation diminished rapidly as they endured a long period of increasing discomfort. Finrod’s hair was itching Oropher’s nose and the subtle motions of Finrod’s backside against his groin had become torture of a different sort. 

“What’s that thing you get when you’re scared of enclosed spaces?” Oropher whispered.

“Claustrophobia,” Finrod said.

“Well, I think I’m getting that,” Oropher said. He sneezed into Finrod’s hair.

“By Námo’s nut sack, Oropher!” Finrod whispered in disgust as he reached up to brush the back of his head. More time passed.

“My leg has gone to sleep,” Celeborn growled. “How long do you intend on keeping us in here? I really must insist on an explanation, Finrod . . . .”

“Um,” Oropher said, trying to wriggle into a less compromising position. 

“Quit it, both of you,” Finrod snapped. 

Time crawled by. The room brightened with the rising sun. Suddenly a ripe smell filled the wardrobe. 

“All right, who did that?” Finrod choked. 

Celeborn snickered. 

“By Angband’s pits,” Oropher moaned, holding his nose.

“Really, Celeborn, this is a disgraceful way to treat your future in-law,” Finrod said.

“You’re the one who dragged me in here!” Celeborn growled.

“Shhh. And Oropher, that had better be your sword pommel.” 

“I’m not wearing a . . . ,” Oropher began. 

“Precisely,” Finrod said, wriggling a little, which only made Oropher’s condition worse. Was he doing that on purpose? If so, as soon as they got out of the wardrobe, Oropher planned to deck him. Was it Finrod’s idea of a joke to keep him perpetually needy?

“Fantastic! I’m stuck in here with two lust fiends,” Celeborn declared.

“You are one to talk, _Teleporno,_ ” Finrod said. “May I remind you why we are here in the first place.”

“Finrod, I can’t . . . ,” Oropher complained. 

“Shhh!” Finrod said suddenly, tensing. “Look!”

Through the crack in the wardrobe door, Oropher saw a blur of something black land on the bureau. He craned his head forward to see better. There! A huge raven now strutted back and forth on the furniture. The bird leaned over, cocked his head from one side to the other, then picked up the clasp in his broad beak. He stood there for a moment.

“Just as I thought,” Finrod said softly.

“Ahhh, one of the King’s messengers,” Oropher whispered. “The little thief.” 

“By the Belain!” Celeborn croaked menacingly. “I’ll wring its neck.” He struggled upright, in the process elbowing Oropher hard in the side. Oropher could not help but let out a gasp. 

The raven took off, disappearing from the field of view.

“Quick!” Finrod cried, throwing the door open. The three of them popped free of the wardrobe, landing in a heap on the floor. Oropher took a big gulp of non-Celeborn scented air. Finrod rapidly crawled out from under him, ran across the room, and began bounding up the ladder. “Come, Oropher,” he cried happily. “The game’s afoot!”

Celeborn attempted to get up and fell over again on his face. Then he staggered around in a circle as if drunk, “Mandos, my leg!” he moaned.

Oropher paid him no heed. Without even thinking what he was doing, he scrambled after Finrod, who had reached the top of the ladder and squeezed through the window. Sliding footfalls could be heard on the roof and then nothing. 

Oropher climbed up after him, and poked his head out of the window. Overhead, the vast trunk of Neldor towered. At this height, it was tapering towards its crown, but was still immense. Many branches grew on all sides like giant wheel spokes, mostly barren of leaves. One branch extended just beyond arm’s reach from the window. It did not look too far to grab if he jumped. Then, Oropher looked down and nearly puked from vertigo at the dizzying drop to the rocks far below. Just as Celeborn had said, there was no scaling this tree from the ground. In the distance, he heard the roaring Esgalduin. _Look up, look up,_ he thought frantically. There, above him, single-mindedly scrambling up the branch after the raven, was Finrod. Oropher swallowed hard.

“Come along, Oropher,” Finrod called cheerfully. “We’re closing in on our quarry.”

He _is_ insane, Oropher thought. Full on, batshit mad. I should have known all along. 

Below him on the ladder, he heard Celeborn call out, “What’s happening?” 

Oropher ducked his head back down. “He’s chasing after the raven.”

“Do you really think that bird has the Codpiece?” Celeborn said.

“I think it’s likely,” Oropher said. “I’m going after him. You stay here and make sure no one takes away the ladder or we’ll be stuck up here.”

“Very well,” Celeborn said doubtfully. “Be careful, will you?”

“By the Belain, I’ll try,” Oropher said. He hauled himself over the edge of the window, squeezing through the opening, breathing heavily. I must be as crazy as that Noldo, he thought. He crawled out onto the slanting roof, realizing that any misstep would send him hurtling down to the rocks below on an untimely voyage to Bannoth. Above him, the thick branch hung tantalizingly. He couldn’t allow Finrod to go by himself, could he? What if that raven attacked him while he was vulnerable in the tree? Slowly, he stood, reaching for the branch and trying to keep his balance. He began to slide on the thick grey slate of the roof. Oh, this was not good. Oropher thought he could just about reach that branch overhead. Desperately, he leapt into the air and wrapped his arms about the branch, hanging on for dear life as he hung there, legs swinging.

“Quit playing around and get up here,” he heard Finrod call way above him.

“Rut you!” Oropher grunted. Slowly, he hauled himself up on top of the branch and lay clutching it, his heart pounding in his chest. This was insane times twelve. He grabbed a smaller branch growing vertically from the main one, tested it for stability and looked up. Finrod was about one hundred feet above him, climbing steadily upward through the branches towards a huge nest – the closest one among a dozen others in the tree. Several of the King’s evil-looking messengers were flapping about, calling with harsh voices. 

You wanted to live for the moment, Oropher said to himself, now is the chance. And he began to climb. One branch, then the next, higher and further. As he drew near the great shaggy nest built in the crotch of a branch, he saw one of the ravens flying around, calling loudly. The nest itself looked to be ancient, a huge, untidy mass of twigs about ten feet across, no doubt formed by many generations of corvids. Bits and pieces of a strange conversation floated down. He recognized Finrod’s clear tones and then heard a raven’s harsh croaking voice, the words barely discernable. 

Reaching the edge of the nest, he looked down into it and saw Finrod sitting there with knees drawn up, as composed as if he were having tea with the King. Opposite him, brooding a clutch of blue-green eggs sat a raven nearly half Finrod’s size. Oropher discerned a small pile of glittery objects nearby, among them Finrod’s comb. But there was no Codpiece to be seen. 

Another raven with a glossy black coat that shone purple in the light landed on one of the branches supporting the nest and waddled towards them. That must be the male. 

Finrod turned his head and looked up at Oropher. “Come along,” he called with an overarm wave. “It’s easier to sit here than out there. This is Arark,” he indicated the female raven. “And that is her husband Ka. They serve as messengers to the King.” He turned back to the ravens. “This is my assistant, Oropher,” he said. Ka dipped his head in that abrupt bobbing way birds have. Oropher noted his vicious beak, cruel claws, and sly expression and realized that here the birds had all the advantages and he and Finrod none. The queasy feeling in his stomach increased.

Sending a little prayer out to the Belain, Oropher crept forward, feeling the whole branch shaking under him. He straddled the rim of the nest, while gripping an overhead branch. “I’m good here,” he said to Finrod. Sitting so high up was terrifying. Oropher kept his eyes firmly fixed on Finrod and the ravens. He didn’t even want to think about climbing back down. 

“Honor it is,” Ka croaked in a voice of gravel. “Never before have the subjects of Elu Thingol visited our home.” 

“That is a shame,” Finrod said. “You have a fine nest. But we cannot fly and so do not like high places. It is only dire need that brings us. The King himself sent us to learn from your wisdom.”

“Rawrk,” Ka said, fluttering his wings. He cocked his head. “A polite elf, not so full of himself. You may ask.”

“How is it that you could produce a clutch of eggs when none others have done so?” Finrod said. 

Arark spoke then in a hoarse voice somewhat higher than that of her husband. “This time for fifty annual cycles of the sun, Ka and I have raised a brood,” she said. 

“Yes, but this spring is different,” Finrod said. “As well you know.” Swiftly, Finrod dipped his hand to the pile of glittery items and picked up the stolen hair clip. He held it up to the other one still in his hair. “Why did you take this?”

“Rawrk, no harm, no harm,” Ka said. “A gift to gladden my spouse while she sits.”

“Yes, you may have meant no harm, but a lunar cycle ago you took something from the Lord Celeborn from the same place on his bureau. Something very bright and glittery. Its magic is the reason you were able to produce young when all your relatives over there,” he waved at the circling ravens, “could not. It is a matter of great importance for all creatures who live in Doriath that he gets it back. Without it, there will be no more young, no fruit to feed them, no leaves,no _life_.” This last word was said in ominous tones. “It is most imperative that we get it back.” 

“Awwwak,” Ka cried. “Terrible tidings.” He looked at his wife and clacked his beak. 

Arark answered in kind. Then she said. “Tell the King, we did not know. Who would think such a valuable thing would be thrown out of Lord Celeborn’s nest like that? We thought he did not want it. It was such a pretty thing, my husband could not resist.”

“I’m prepared to trade something for it.” Here Finrod unfastened his other hair clasp and held it out, moving it so that the diamonds sparkled in the light.

Arark looked at it greedily. “Ah, pretty,” she said. “But we cannot trade.”

“Why ever not?” Finrod growled. “I’m not sure you understand the gravity of this situation, for your brood as well as the rest of the forest’s denizens.”

Arark clicked her beak and flapped her wings, seemingly in agitation. But she did not leave her eggs. Oropher wondered what in Ennor was the matter with her. “Ah, the King, the King will kill us,” she cried. “He will hunt us with bows of yew.”

“The King will not, I promise as an elf come from Aman,” Finrod said. “Just tell me what you’ve done with it.”

“It’s gone,” Arark said. “We have it no more.” 

“But you did have it, you know what I’m talking about,” replied Finrod.

“Aye,” Ka fluttered down into the nest and stood next to his wife. “Pouch with thongs. Made of skin of deer with many bright stones. Beautiful. Like bees, it buzzed, warming our nest.” Affectionately, he jittered his beak along his wife’s neck. “We kept it two nights and then Arark laid our eggs.”

“That’s it,” Finrod said. “Where is it?”

“We traded,” Ka said. 

“You what?” Oropher exclaimed, which earned him a calculating glance from the raven.

“Arark needed food. Seeking, I was, and there was none. I found a garden, all barren, but she was there and gave me in trade some grain and dried berries, enough to hatch our chicks.”

“Who did you give it to?” Finrod asked.

“The Shepherdess of Trees,” Ka replied as if it were obvious. 

“The Onodbess! What was her name?” Finrod cried. “As if I can’t guess.”

“Rawk, hmm,” Ka said. Maddeningly, he began preening his feathers. Finrod waited patiently but Oropher was ready to leap down and strangle the bird before the raven finally croaked out, “Fimbrethil, that was her name.”

“Fangorn’s wife!” Oropher exclaimed. 

Finrod rubbed his chin. “When did you trade it?” 

“The moon has gone around once since then,” Ka replied. “Arark ate well. Good trade.”

“Can you take us to Fimbrethil?” 

The raven bobbed his head. “I could,” he replied. “Far from here. Must fly.”

“We will have to ride,” Finrod said. “Ka, if you do this, I promise, all will be forgiven. King Thingol will provide you with food for your family. You have my word.”

Once again the birds engaged in their beak clacking exchange. Then Arark spoke. “Tell the King we are most sorry and will help to fix our error.”

Just then another raven flapped down onto the branch and bobbed his head at Ka. There followed a series of croaks and squawks. The newcomer moved about in a circle, flapping his wings, and Ka imitated it. 

“What are they saying?” Oropher asked.

“Ah, bad news, very bad,” Arark said. “Krok, our son, has just come back from the northern fences. The Abominations gather there to attack.” She cocked her head listening. “One thousand strong.”

“The abominations? Orcs?” Oropher said in horror.

“Aye,” Arark said. “Just at daybreak, Krok reported to the Elven King. Even now, Thingol musters Menegroth.” The raven raised up, flapping her wings, then settled again. “Bad news for the elves.”

“Bad news for us all,” Finrod replied. “Ka, that garment you traded, the codpiece, it is key to maintaining the magic that protects the borders. We must get it back immediately. Are you prepared to guide us to Fimbrethil?”

“Aye,” Ka cocked his head. 

“Wait for us outside the main gates of Menegroth,” Finrod said. “We will be there shortly. Come Oropher, no time to lose!”

Oropher looked down between his dangling toes and a wave of nausea hit him. “I don’t think I can climb back down, Finrod.” 

“Nonsense, you got up here, you can get back down. It’s the same, just in reverse,” Finrod replied briskly. “Here, I’ll go ahead and guide you.”

The climb back down the tree was the worst thing Oropher had ever done in his life. Ka flew alongside, offering helpful suggestions for where to put his feet and hands. When they finally reached the branch over Celeborn’s roof, Finrod dropped down, grabbed hold of the edge of the window and lowered himself in. He turned and leaned far out, looking up anxiously at Oropher, who held fast to the branch, gasping for breath, and thinking there was no way he could leap the gap to that slanting roof. Holding his arms out, Finrod spoke words of encouragement. Oropher slowly lowered himself until his toes touched the edge of the roof. He felt Finrod grasp his legs. 

“Let go, I’ve got you,” Finrod said. 

Oropher took a deep breath, released the branch, and whoa! wobbled on the slanted roof. Ka flew down and grabbed hold of the back of his jacket until he steadied. Then, he fell forward onto his hands and backed down into the window opening, while Finrod guided him. 

Unsteadily, he climbed down the ladder and finally, finally his feet met the floor. 

“There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Finrod said.

“By Oromë’s hornblast,” Oropher moaned. He fell to his knees, leaned down, and kissed the stone. “Never, never ask me to do that again, Finrod,” he blithered. “You are completely and totally insane, you know that.”

Finrod crouched down next to him and ruffled his hair. “And you are lovely and brave,” he said. “Come now. We’ve some work to do and quickly. Where is Celeborn?”

“I am here,” Celeborn said, coming into the room. He was fully dressed in battle gear complete with armor. “While you were aloft, I heard that King Thingol has called for us all to ride to the northern fence. Orcs are on the move and apparently the borders have been breached. Did the raven have the Codpiece?”

“The one called Ka took it, but does not have it now, more’s the pity. However, he knows where it is and will guide us there,” Finrod said. “Celeborn, I need you to show me where the secret entrance to King Thingol’s rooms are.”

“Why?” Celeborn asked.

“Because I need to take Melian’s Girdle with us. The quicker we can reunite the Girdle and the Codpiece, the faster the fences will be restored.” 

“Is that how the girdle of enchantment works?” Celeborn’s face blanched. “By the Belain, if I’d known, I’d never have dared lay a hand to the thing.”

“In this case, secrecy was not Thingol’s best gambit,” Finrod said. “Come Oropher.” 

Celeborn picked up a torch in the hall and led them down the winding stair and across the wide rock garden with its maze of boulders. In between the boulders, the elves had laid colored sand which was raked into various designs. They located a pile of boulders covering an alcove. “Go into the back there, and press three times at the shallow indentation,” Celeborn said. “Be persistent, it’s hard to find.” 

They heard a woman’s voice call, “So, there you are.” Oropher looked up and saw Galadriel striding towards them. At first Oropher didn’t recognize her, as she was also dressed in armor, with her hair tucked under a helm. 

“What are you doing?” Celeborn said.

“I’m coming with you, my love,” Galadriel said. 

“You most certainly are not!” Celeborn replied.

Galadriel tossed her head. “Don’t you dare tell me what I will and will not do. I’ve been in battles and I can wield sword and bow. This is my land now as well as yours and I intend to help protect it.”

“Celeborn, if I were you, I’d learn right now not to cross her,” Finrod said. “We must go immediately.” He bowed. “Farewell dear Artanis. Hopefully, if my day goes well, you will have no need to fight.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“We have solved the mystery and are close to retrieving the Codpiece,” Finrod announced with a gleam in his eye. “Celeborn, tell the guards to have my horse and one for Oropher ready at the front gate within the hour.” 

Then, Finrod took the torch from Celeborn, bent over and disappeared into the alcove. Oropher looked at Celeborn and Galadriel, shrugged, and followed. 

“He found it?” he heard Galadriel say behind him. “That is wonderful news! Why then must he get his horse?”

 

***********  
The passageway was stifling and filled with wispy cobwebs. Oropher breathed a sigh of relief when they finally came to the end and Finrod opened the secret door into the closet. Before them stood the strange statue with the glittering Girdle wrapped about its waist. Finrod handed Oropher the torch, unhooked the Girdle and held it in his hands for a moment, thinking. Then he pulled up Oropher’s shirt.

“What?” Oropher protested. Finrod fastened it about his waist, coiled up the long end and stuffed it down into Oropher’s bright yellow codpiece. Immediately, Oropher sensed a strange vibration that curled rather pleasantly all through his groin. 

As delightful as the sensation was, not to mention that of Finrod’s hands fumbling about in his tights, Oropher was filled with a new panic. “Um, Finrod, do you know how much trouble we could be in,” he said, looking down at the strange lumps and knobs that now adorned his codpiece. “Or rather, how much trouble _I_ will be in, since I’m the one who seems to be stealing the most valuable item in Menegroth. And by the way, have you thought of how to smuggle this out since we will be subject to a search at the Gates?” 

“Yes, that is a problem,” Finrod said, tapping his lip. 

“What? You don’t have a solution?”

“Not yet. But I suspect all the guards will be scurrying about preparing to join the march to the northern border. They will be highly distractable. We must hurry.”

At that moment, the closet door opened and Queen Melian herself stood there, her lovely face lit starkly by Oropher’s torch. She blinked, and then scowled. “I thought I heard rats in the closet,” she said. “I was right.”

***********  
Teleporno - of course Celeborn’s name in Quenya. An unfortunate choice on Tolkien's part.  
Onodbess - Ent wife in Sindarin

**********


	5. Blowing in the Wind

_“Because it is my desire, it that not enough?”_  
Sherlock Holmes in _The Adventure of the Dying Detective_

 

“Queen Melian! Perfect!” Finrod cried, leaping out of the closet. She stepped back in astonishment. He bowed quickly and then bobbed back up. “You are the solution to our problem!”

“I am? It appears to me that you are creating the problem, by nicking my Girdle.”

“As you well know, dear lady, appearances are deceiving. What we are doing is saving Doriath. Oropher and I have discovered where the Codpiece is. We must unite it with the Girdle as quickly as may be before Menegroth is overrun. As we speak, Ka, the King’s messenger, is waiting by the gates to guide us to it.”

“Even if I believed you, which I am not sure I do,” she said. “What solution are you proposing?”

“I need you to help me smuggle the Girdle past your guards.” 

“And how would you suggest I do that?”

“By wearing it.”

Melian blinked and then laughed. “Cleverness runs in your family. Many a night has your sister entertained me with her witty stories,” she said. “Clearly this is a tale that I must hear.” She reached up, set her hands on either side of Finrod’s head, and closed her eyes. A long moment passed and then Melian said, “Fortunately for you, dear Findaráto, I can sense your sincerity and the depth of your loyalty to the King. It is imperative that you find the Codpiece quickly. The forest is crying.” She shook her head, staring at something far in the distance. Then she smiled. “Come out of there, Oropher. You’ll singe the roof of my cabinet with that torch.” 

Oropher stepped over the lip of the closet. 

“Now then,” Melian said, “kindly take my Girdle out of your leggings and hand it over. I must say, that is not the most effective hiding place. I’ve never seen a codpiece sporting quite so many strange lumps.” Her lips trembled in suppressed laughter.

Sheepishly, Oropher eased the heavy belt, medallion by exquisite medallion, out of his crotch. Already missing the buzz it was giving him, he rather reluctantly handed it to the Queen. She clipped it about her waist. “There now, hiding in plain sight. Shall we go?”

**********

The underground fortress was crawling like a beehive. In the great hall, just inside the main gates, the wardens readied for battle. Weapons clanged, elves shouted, horses whinnied. But just as Finrod had planned, the citizens of Menegroth parted before the Queen like waves about the prow of a ship. None of the guards challenged them. In the midst of the confusion, Finrod found a stablehand holding his horse ready. 

“Where is the one for Oropher?” he asked.

“We have a shortage of horses, all are needed for the ride north,” the groom said. “Here is your beast.” He stroked his neck, then handed over the reins.

“Do you wish me to order another horse?” the Queen asked. 

Finrod thought a moment. “No, Thindroch is strong enough to bear us both, and I’ll need Oropher to keep his eyes on the raven, while I steer.”

Queen Melian accompanied them through the gates. She paused on the other side of the rushing river, unclasped the Girdle, and held it out to Oropher. “Keep this safe,” she said. “I am sure you understand the nature of this trust. If anything were to happen to it, we will all pay the price.” 

“You may rely on us, my Queen,” Oropher said stoutly. He kissed her hand and took the glittering belt reverently, pulled up his tunic and buckled it about his waist, collapsing the long chain and stowing it in his leggings. 

“Never fear, Milady,” Finrod said. “Oropher and I shall restore to you both the Codpiece and the Girdle.” 

Melian gazed into the air with that strange unfocussed look of hers. “Rich shall be your reward,” she replied. “But only if you remember the key to making the Codpiece work.” She gave them a warm smile that caused funny feelings to dance about within Oropher’s loins. The Girdle vibrated in response. Oropher wondered how he was going to sit pressed up behind Finrod for hours without exploding.

Ka flapped to the ground. He bobbed his head to Melian. “My Queen,” he acknowledged.

“Guide them well, Ka,” Melian said. “I will hold you responsible.” 

Finrod and Oropher bade the Queen farewell, mounted Thindroch, and were soon galloping west alongside the Esgalduin. Sitting behind Finrod, Oropher kept his eyes trained on the bird soaring high above. For a long time, they continued on a straight course but then Oropher noticed that the bird had deviated. “Finrod, he’s turned away from the path and has crossed over the river!” 

“Curse it! The bridge isn’t for miles,” Finrod said. “Try to keep him in sight!” 

Oropher strained his eyes as they hastened forward. The raven circled back towards them, then turned north again. He dwindled into a black speck and disappeared.

“Oromë’s horn! That is just great,” Oropher exclaimed in disgust. “Now what?”

“We’ll cross when we can,” Finrod said.

The sun climbed to its zenith before they reached the bridge over the river into Neldoreth. Thindroch’s hooves made a hollow clunking sound on the wooden planks, while Oropher craned his neck looking for the maddening bird. As they passed through the leafless groves of trees, the air seemed warmer. Oropher noticed a faint tinge of green at the tips of the branches. “Look, Finrod,” he cried.

“Yes, I see. Fangorn must be employing the Codpiece,” Finrod said. “Good. All we need do is follow the budding trees.” He squeezed his legs and Thindroch broke into a slow canter.

Sure enough, all around them, the leaves seemed to be growing at an accelerated rate. 

Finally, Ka reappeared, circling about. “Rawk! Much too slow,” he called. “Come along, then. It’s not far.”

They entered a vast orchard filled with rows of fruit trees, cherry, then pear, and finally apple. 

“Oh look, Finrod,” Oropher exclaimed as tiny white and pale pink buds suddenly sprouted at the tips of the branches. 

“Beautiful!” Finrod agreed. “We’re getting closer.”

At length they came to a clearing covered in ploughed fields. On the far side stood a tall lodge with sides thatched in shredded bark. A thin plume of smoke rose from a tall stone chimney. From inside the lodge, Oropher heard hear a faint _hoom, hom, humba hom, hubba hubba hoom_ mixed in with a higher voice singing _lal-o-wow-a-lally-wowsa-hoooom de yaaaaaaay!_

“Um, Finrod. They seem to be occupied,” Oropher said. 

“They do at that,” Finrod laughed. “By Manwë’s breath, look at the fields!” A green shimmer had appeared among the ploughed hummocks. It grew into tiny plants that stretched and reached skyward before their very eyes.

“It’s working!” Oropher cried. 

Ka flapped down and fluffed his feathers. “The home of the Tree Shepherds is here. Did I not guide you well?” He began snatching at some bugs in the ploughed earth.

Oropher said, “No, you did not guide us well.”

Finrod set a hand on his thigh, which, although meant to calm, had rather the opposite effect. In point of fact, Oropher considered grabbing that hand and plastering it to his crotch. It was only the raven’s presence that restrained him.

“Thank you, Ka,” Finrod said. “Please go and call down the chimney to alert our friends that we are coming.”

“Aye,” the bird said and flew off.

“And now, Oropher, we need to get within one hundred feet of the house to trigger Doriath's enchanted fences.” Finrod clicked to his horse and they continued on towards the lodge. The noises from within grew louder and the sides puffed in and out like a bellows. 

The strange tingling sensation produced by Melian’s Girdle suddenly increased markedly in intensity. Oropher gasped. “Finrod, something is happening!” 

“We must be close enough,” Finrod replied. “Stars above, I can feel it, Oropher!” He turned his head to look at Oropher over his shoulder and smiled so beautifully that Oropher leaned forward, pursing his lips for a kiss. But Finrod’s attention was drawn by Ka settling on the roof of the house and raucously squawking and flapping about. Finrod chuckled.

There was sudden silence from within the lodge. Then a cautious voice called, “ _Hoom_ , hello?”

Finrod yelled, “Fangorn, it is Oropher and I, Finrod, bringing a message from King Thingol. Are you in a position to come out and speak with us?”

There was a long period of silence, then shuffling, whispers, and some booming hooms and homs. Eventually, the door creaked open and Fangorn’s lumpy face with its bristly beard peeked out. “This,” he rumbled, “is not a good time.”

Then, from the hut they heard a voice, cool and soft like wind rustling through branches. “Messengers from the Elven King? Fangorn, we must let them in.” The door opened wider and a tall, willowy figure with long arms and even longer fingers, pushed past Fangorn and came out into the sun. Her hair was a rich brown, falling over her shoulders like mistletoe, her cheeks were rosy as apples, and, like Fangorn, she was wearing a wrapper made of plaited rushes. Her eyes sparkled like a brook in sunlight. She was indeed lovely, for an Ent.

“Fimbrethil, I presume,” Finrod said, and bowed.

Fimbrethil leaned against Fangorn’s shoulder and smiled widely at Finrod and Oropher. “What a marvelous surprise,” she said. “Fangorn dear, we never have visitors. We must invite them in for tea.”

“Must we?” asked Fangorn and Fimbrethil gave him a look. “Ah _hoom_ , yes, we must,” Fangorn said.

***********  
It was a strange group that gathered for tea and honeycakes around a low table in Fangorn’s home: two ents, two elves and one ravenous raven. Fangorn lowered himself awkwardly onto a divan, where he could reach his tea cup. The elves and raven sat upon pillows. Fimbrethil, bustled about at first preparing the tea, and then when all was set, being somewhat more bendable than Fangorn, she sat leaning back in a short-legged chair. Ka greedily pecked at the food scattering crumbs hither and yon. 

With just slightly more decorum, Oropher munched down cakes and tried to ignore the heat buzzing in his loins, while Finrod described the whole misadventure, to much surprised shaking of the Ents’ heads.

“Well, at least, _hom, hum_ , we now understand all the strange goings on in Doriath,” Fangorn said. “And I gather we have you to thank for solving the mystery?” 

“It was nothing,” Finrod said, with a wave of his hand. “Merely the keen observation of details and the application of logic.”

“And Oropher, are you planning to become an apprentice of this new method? You appear much enamored of it,” Fimbrethil asked with a sly wink.

Oropher tore his eyes away from Finrod. “Um,” he said. “I had not planned on it, as such. My father wants me to be a healer in Nivrim.”

“Oropher has been most helpful to this investigation. I think he shows great promise,” Finrod affirmed. He turned to Oropher. “Perhaps you would like to come serve me in Nargothrond?” He smiled and Oropher felt a sudden warmth throughout his whole being. The Codpiece seemed to be singing a seductive song to the Girdle wrapped about his waist. He could hardly think straight.

Fidgeting, Oropher wondered how Finrod’s keen sense of observation could have missed his difficulty. He was most definitely not going to serve as Finrod's assistant with no hope of satisfaction. Finrod seemed terribly resistant to his blandishments. Well, by the stars, he was going to find out! “It is an enticing offer, worthy of consideration,” he said, while under the table, he casually set a hand on Finrod’s thigh.

Finrod showed no emotion but merely sipped his tea. “I notice, my good Fimbrethil,” he said, “that the peat in the hearth is nearly burnt out. I want to assure you and Fangorn that now that the Girdle and Codpiece are reunited, there will be plenty of wood in your house once again.”

“Oh, hmmm, we do not burn woo . . . oh,” Fangorn said. His bushy eyebrows rose. “Well, that is good to know.”

Wood indeed, Oropher snickered and his hand slid further up Finrod’s thigh. Finrod sucked in a quick breath.“Well, this has been most pleasant,” he said. “But we had better be hurrying back to Menegroth to report to the King and Queen. Don’t you think, Oropher?”

“Yes, definitely. We should go. . . now,” Oropher said. 

“We were delighted to have you visit and bring us the news,” Fangorn rumbled. “I am sorry we did not know we were dealing in _hoom_ stolen goods.” 

Ka had the good grace to stop attacking a honeycake and look embarrassed. Fangorn slowly levered himself out of the divan. “Allow me to retrieve the object that has caused so much trouble,” he said. “It will be a few moments. Excuse me.”

Fangorn retreated behind a curtain at the back of the lodge and there began a series of grunts and groans and shufflings and stampings. “Um, my dear,” he called. “This is um, hum, rather tricky. Could you please help?”

Fimbrethil rose and disappeared behind the curtain. Fangorn’s heavy breathing grew even more labored. “Having a little difficulty,” he called out cheerfully. “Don’t be hasty now. That’s what I say. Just a few more uhhh moments.”

“We will just wait outside then, shall we?” Finrod said. “Come Oropher.”

“What’s the problem?” Oropher asked, when they stood outside, listening to the creaking and groaning within.

“Did you ever try to undo leather thongs without bending in the middle?” Finrod chuckled.

“No, perhaps we should try it,” Oropher said. “Can you untie a knot with your teeth, Lord Finrod?” He looked right at Finrod and ran his tongue over his lips.

Finrod stared back hungrily. Oropher wanted to leap on him. 

“ _Hoom_ , yes, so there we are,” Fangorn wheezed as he came out of the door holding the leather contraption in his hands. “I must say I hate to turn this over to the King. It was _hoom_ very good for marital harmony, it was, even if it made things _hom, hooom_ , a little hasty.” Fangorn winked at Finrod and handed him the famous Codpiece.

“So here, Oropher, is the cause of all the trouble,” Finrod said. “Don't you think it's pretty?”

It was indeed pleasing to the eye, a flexible leather pouch covered with glittering diamonds. It tied on with thongs. Finrod bowed low to Fangorn. “Thank you. Enjoy the spring and your lovely wife.”

“Come back soon. Farewell,” Fangorn boomed, and then rather hastily, for an Ent, retreated into his house. 

The raven, who was waddling along behind, eyed the Codpiece greedily. 

“Take this, Oropher,” Finrod said, handing him the dazzling object.

It was overwhelming to actually hold it in his hands. Oropher could feel the power emanating from it, buzzing like a beehive, just as Ka had said. He could see why both Celeborn and the raven had been tempted.

“Now then, Ka,” Finrod said. “The fences of Doriath should be working once again and you have one more task before your debt is fulfilled. Take news to King Thingol about the success of our venture and tell him we shall be returning to Menegroth tonight. Here, as token of our goodwill is the clasp I promised you.” And he removed it from his hair and held it out. 

“I will do as you bid,” Ka replied. “‘Twas an honor to meet you, Lord Finrod. You have earned the friendship of my people.” He bobbed his head, took the clasp, and launched himself heavily into the air. Soon, he was naught but a black spot in the bright blue sky. 

Oropher shifted the Codpiece back and forth causing a cascade of tiny rainbows to flicker across Finrod’s face and chest. His golden hair, freed from all confines, blew gently in the breeze. He smiled and Oropher thought he’d never seen anything quite so beautiful.

Finrod shook his head a little as if in a trance. “We must be going. Where is Thindroch?” He put his fingers to his lips and whistled. A whinny came from the direction of the orchard.

“Shall we take that walk you wanted last night?” Finrod asked.

Oropher nodded, breathlessly. They passed through the greening fields into the orchards, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun, the breeze, and the burgeoning green smell in the air. Overhead the trees sighed. Finrod began softly singing:

_A vision, too, I had of old_   
_That thou a mortar wert of gold_   
_Then cou'd I but the pestle be_   
_How I wou'd pound_   
_Oh! How I wou'd pound my spice in thee_

Oropher burned with desire. He’d never felt anything quite like it. It boiled his blood, crawled up his legs, hungered his belly, licked his balls, and unfurled his cock into an uncommonly huge stiffie, bent into an uncomfortable angle within the codpiece. He was having difficulty walking.

They reached the grove of cherry trees and Finrod looked up into the lacy branches. “These are my favorites,” he said. “They remind me of springtime in Valinor.” Then he frowned. “But something is not right, Oropher, they have stopped blooming again!”

It was true. The pale pink buds swayed on the ends of the twigs, frozen and tightly furled, as if waiting for something.

Suddenly Oropher figured it out and he laughed at its simplicity. “Finrod,” he exclaimed. “You, with all your cleverness, why can’t you see the answer to this riddle? Are you made of stone?”

“We have both the Codpiece and the Girdle,” Finrod mused. “It should be working. Where is that dratted horse? We must return immediately so the King and Queen can make the magic.”

“Stop thinking and start feeling, Finrod!” Oropher cried. “Put it on! For rut’s sake, put it on!” Frantically, he unstrapped the Codpiece, then kneeling before Finrod, pushed up his tunic, and tied the Codpiece in place over his leggings. “There!” he cried, looking up at Finrod’s face.

The Noldo’s expression contorted and his mouth dropped open in a gasp. He turned his head to the side, leaned forward and placed his hands on Oropher’s shoulders. “By Námo’s flaming nut sack!” he cried.

“Intense, huh?” Oropher grinned roguishly.

“Valar, y-yes,” Finrod stammered.

“You have missed the most important piece of the puzzle, Finrod.”

“What have I missed?” Finrod moaned. “I never miss anything.” He pressed a hand against his crotch and shuddered. His eyes rolled upwards and he sank to his knees.

Oropher laughed. “You forgot the key ingredient required to quicken spring. Love! That is the solution to the mystery. Open your heart and love me, you bastard!” 

With that, Oropher seized the back of Finrod’s neck and took his mouth in a sizzling, toe-curling, tongue-numbing, honey and spice flavored kiss. Oh, but it was marvelous to finally, finally taste him. Overhead, a flock of larks burst into song.

Finrod responded like sugar melting. He wrapped Oropher in his arms, burying his tongue in his mouth. The kiss seemed to go on forever, deeper, more erotic until Oropher saw stars in broad daylight and the seam in the front of his codpiece burst. As they kissed, their hands roamed and squeezed, bodies pressed together so tightly, Oropher thought they might merge. 

When they finally drew apart, they were both panting with desire. “My most clever and beautiful assistant,” Finrod exclaimed. He ran his hand possessively over the back of Oropher’s head. “You are right. I did not see. How can I deny it any longer? I'm afraid the King will just have to wear that soup tureen for another night.” 

They both laughed and then Finrod claimed Oropher’s mouth again. They sank down to the ground, wrestling off clothes, including the Girdle and Codpiece, and flinging them wherever they landed, until they were as joyously naked as the birds and the beasts. 

All about them, plants burgeoned into life, making up for lost time. The ferns pushed free of the earth, unfolded their tender heads and tapped music into the breeze. A riot of color erupted from the forest floor, fields of bluebell, wild rose, celandine, primrose, and foxglove. Sap surged upwards through the vascular pathways of the tree trunks and flowed like warm syrup into the branches, pulsing into the veins of the expanding leaves. Tight little cherry buds opened their knees, and then spread wide, ripe for the taking, casting forth their heavenly aroma to lure wanderers with their offering of sweet nectar. The bees came to thrust their curling tongues into those alluring pink recesses, gathering up the pollen and spreading it onto their thighs. Birds madly warbled and darted after each other in great swoops of ardent glee.

A pale pink petal dropped, and then another, until there was a gentle rain of blossoms blown by the breeze into drifts on the greening forest floor. 

And lying twined and enraptured on their flowery bed, two elves kissed and sucked and licked and writhed and gasped and cried, and throbbed and pulsed and thrust and thrust and thrust, conjuring the ancient magic over and again in an ecstasy born of love newly discovered.

And thus did Spring come at last to Doriath.

The End


End file.
